


Seer of Destiny, Spinner of Dreams

by GoldsJRZGirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, F/M, Family Fluff, Romance, Seer Belle, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:51:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 61,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldsJRZGirl/pseuds/GoldsJRZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Born a Seer, Belle's Visions make her an outcast and feared in her village. Born lame and the bastard son of the village coward, Rumple is also taunted and mocked. But he possesses the uncanny ability to spin any material, even straw. Can these two childhood friends spin their own fate and weave a destiny other than pariahs and discover a love that shall endure despite everything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gift Beyond Price

_Hearthstone village_

_The Enchanted Forest:_

Maurice Avignon, eccentric mathematician and inventor of several ingenious devices to count money and sheaves of wheat and move large loads with the aids of levers and fulcrums, huddled miserably in a chair and listened to the groans and cries of his beloved wife, Elena, as she struggled to bear their first child. He was a man in his mid-thirties, with flyaway brown hair and a look of perpetual curiosity upon his round face. He almost always had some kind of oil stain or food stain upon his tunic, as he forgot to use an apron when he worked in his shop or ate his lunch, he was too busy calculating angles and parameters and other things.

His wife, gentle Elena, six years his junior, who was once handmaid to the noble Jeanette of the House of Moreaux, had been in labor for almost sixteen hours now and he feared something was gravely wrong. He had paced up and down their well-appointed cottage, nearly wearing a hole in the floorboards from his anxiety. He had called their neighbor, Barbara, to come and help Elena when her pains had come upon her, and the cheery woman who was the village baker and had six sons and daughters, had happily come to assist, assuring Maurice that the baby would arrive in no time.

But that had not been the case and now he feared something was dreadfully wrong.

Sure enough, Barbara came through the bedroom door a moment later, wiping her hands on a cloth and looking grave, her dark hair tucked up beneath her linen cap. The baker was sweating profusely, and said, "Maurice, I believe the babe is turned the wrong way, and I cannot help her . . . I don't know how to turn it around, and if I don't . . .you could lose them both!"

"No!" he howled, fear and grief etching lines in his face. "That cannot be! There must be a way to save them!"

"Your only hope may be the wise women spinsters—Lauren, Aimee, and Claudette, who live on the edge of the village. They're known for their herbal remedies and their fine thread. And some say . . they are sorceresses as well," she whispered that last for in this part of the kingdom, those who practiced magic were feared and regarded with disdain. But the sisters were well respected as spinners and herbalists, and ran a shop selling their thread and simples.

"I shall go to them. Perhaps they may know of a way to save my wife and child!" Maurice said, and he grabbed his cloak and hurried out the door.

As he passed the village blacksmith, whose pounding on his anvil echoed in the chill evening air, the blacksmith's son, five-year-old Gaston, a sturdy lad with black hair and a cunning smile, raced around a corner of the forge, waving his toy bow and arrow. "Look! It's crazy old Maurice!" he shrilled, aiming his toy arrow at the inventor's backside.

Maurice spun before the little hickory shaft could hit its target and snapped, "Mind where you shoot that, young one, before I tan your hide for your insolence!"

Gaston backed away, still clutching his bow. "You'd not dare! My papa would pound you into the ground!"

"Then tell him to teach you respect for your elders!" the inventor snorted, and hurried on his way. He couldn't take the time now to teach the brat any manners, he had to get to the spinsters.

Soon he reached the small shop and cottage where they lived. It was a pretty little place with larkspur and meadowsweet around the dooryard and the shop bore a simple illustrated sign of a mortar and pestle and an herb bundle and some thread, since most of the villagers couldn't read, though Maurice could and so could Elena, and it was rumored the sisters could also. It was said they had once been prosperous merchant's daughters whose father had lost everything in a hand of cards and so they had moved here to Hearthstone, leaving behind all they had known in the city of Broceliande, where the King Leopold's palace was. That also included their suitors, who abandoned them now that their fortunes had been reversed, and so the three had never married, preferring to remain alone rather than cater to the whims of fickle men.

The thatch gleamed like spun gold in the light of the setting sun, and he came to the painted blue door and knocked upon it, noting the walls needed a new coat of whitewash.

Inside he heard the fretful wail of a baby, and it was then he recalled that the spinsters had taken in Julietta Marchand's baby when she had died giving birth to him a fortnight past. She had named the boy's father as Malcolm Kerr, though Malcolm was denying the boy was his, as they had ot been married and it was said Malcolm would have had to be in his cups to sleep with poor shy Julietta, whose only redeeming quality was her face and her weaving. "Mouse" was her nickname among the villagers and it had been a great scandal when it was discovered she was with child. Only seventeen, her papa had thrown her out, calling her a tart and a whore, though she swore the father of her babe had said he would marry her and then had slept with her to seal his pledge. Julietta had gone to live with the spinsters, for they alone bore her no censure and indeed felt sorry for her.

But now she was passed on, in the Blessed Realms, and only her babe was left. Julietta, whose head had been filled with dreams and tales, had named her son after a famous spinner in a folk tale who could spin straw into gold. His name—Rumplestiltskin.

Baby Rumple wailed louder as Maurice pounded upon the door, calling, "For the love of mercy and the goddess Artemesia, open the door! It is I, Maurice!"

The door was opened and a small woman with brown hair and a pleasant face dressed in a green dress and blue apron peered out. "Maurice! What brings you here this eve?" It was Claudette, the youngest sister.

"Please, I beg you to help me! Elena's time is nigh and she . . .is having difficulty . . ." he told her what Barbara had said. "Please . . .if there is anything you can do . . ."

"I shall get my bag," Claudette said. She was the one who had trained with old Lenore, the midwife some years back.

As she disappeared inside the cottage, Maurice heard the baby's cries ebb as a soft voice crooned, "Shh, little Rumple, now drink some warmed milk. Sally gave it special for you, dearie! She's a good little goat, gives us milk and cheese and hair to spin . . ."

He peered into the cottage and saw a tall woman with reddish hair holding a wee baby in her arms and feeding him a bottle as she walked up and down by the hearth. This was Lauren, the eldest of the sisters, wearing a brown wool dress and yellow apron stained with herbal tinctures.

The smell of applewood logs and the astringent scent of herbs and wool greeted his nostrils.

Soon Claudette came back with her black bag of simples and potions and together they hurried back to Maurice's house.

Half an hour later, the lusty wail of a newborn filled his cottage, and Maurice stood by the bed of his exhausted but proud wife and held her hand, tears of joy and relief in his eyes. Claudette had given Elena an herbal concoction to ease her labor and had managed to turn the babe around properly using techniques she'd learned on goats and ewes during lambing time.

Now she carefully washed off the infant, a healthy little girl with a fuzz of dark auburn hair and alert blue eyes that seemed to track upon her already, though the baby was only minutes old. "What do your eyes see, little one?" chuckled Claudette. "Hmm, dearie?" The baby had been born with a caul over her head, and such was often a sign of those with the Gift of Foreknowing.

Once she had washed off the baby, she brought the child over to her mother and father and said, "A healthy baby girl for you, Mistress Elena and Master Maurice." She handed the child to her father, since a father's acknowledgement of a child made it legitimate.

Maurice took the baby in his arms, rocking her lovingly. "A beautiful little girl, Elena! I think we should call her—Belle Avignon, for she is a little beauty!"

"Yes. Belle is a fine name," agreed Elena. She smiled lovingly at her daughter, and Maurice placed her in his wife's arms.

Elena kissed her little head and murmured, "Tis a miracle I was able to bear her."

"Yes. I almost lost you and her," Maurice agreed. He looked at Claudette. "You have given me a gift beyond price, Mistress. And now I owe you a debt I can never repay."

Baby Belle cooed and reached out a hand to grab her mama's hair, and Elena laughed. "Sweet child, how about this instead?" and she gave the baby the platinum chain of her locket, which Maurice had bought her long ago when he was courting her.

Claudette smiled. "All that I ask, Maurice, is that you remember that your daughter is special—she was born with a caul over her face and such indicates that she shall have the Sight. And that gift can be both a blessing and a curse."

The new parents gasped. "Are you sure?" Elena asked.

Claudette nodded. "Yes. If she doesn't develop the Gift as a child she shall when she reaches womanhood. Send her to me and I shall guide her in it. I am, after all, a wise woman."

"All right, we shall," agreed Maurice. He would have agreed to betroth Belle to a monster in order to repay the spinster for her deeds tonight.

"Good. For when all others mock her for being odd and different, she shall always have refuge with me and my sisters, as well as in her own home." Claudette smiled. "Now, rest and enjoy your new daughter. Good evening to you all."

Then she slipped out of the cottage, leaving the new parents to exclaim and hug their new arrival, and returned to her cottage, where she found Lauren spinning and rocking the cradle with a sleeping baby Rumple with her foot, while Aimee hummed an old song while kneading dough sprinkled with rosemary for tomorrow's bread, her round face with its curly brown hair speckled with flour.

"How did it go?" she asked her sister.

"I saved both the babe and the mother . . .though the child shall find a hard lot in life as she too is a Seer like I am . . .and you know well the price a Seer pays for her foreknowing," Claudette sighed.

Aimee nodded. "I know, Claude. Poor baby!"

The Foreknowing was a gift, but not everyone saw it that way, especially when your predictions were not what someone was expecting.

"But I have offered her refuge here, and have volunteered to train her when she is old enough," Claudette said.

"She can be a friend for Rumple, for he too shall find it difficult to make friends," murmured Lauren. "Not only does he have a twisted foot, but he's a bastard too."

Aimee clucked her tongue. "Poor little scrap! People are silly and stupid! 'Tis not his fault he was born lame or a bastard."

"Aye, dearie, but people believe what they want to believe and don't use the brains they were born with," snorted Lauren. "And they teach their children the same."

"I suppose we're lucky that with our knowledge and such they did not label us witches and run us out of town!" Aimee said.

"They'd not have dared," said Claudette. "They need us too much, even if they do think we're terribly odd." She hung her cloak on a peg beside the door and removed her shoes.

Then she came and poured herself a cup of tea and sipped it slowly while she sat next to Lauren and read a book on herbal preparations she had bought off of a traveling peddler.

The soothing whirring of the wheel as Lauren spun and the yeasty smell of bread dough filled the cottage, and in his cradle beneath a pretty woven blue striped blanket, wee Rumple slept, peacefully sucking on his thumb, unaware that destiny had stepped in and spun a new fate whose thread would one day entwine with his own.


	2. Baby Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Belle grow and get into mischief, and Malcolm returns to pay a visit to the spinners' cottage, trying to take Rumple away, but something occurs to foil his plans . . .plus the first meeting between baby Rumple and Belle occurs! Lots of sweetness!

**Baby Mine**

_Almost a year later:_

Under the sisters nurturing care, little Rumple thrived, despite his lame leg, and was soon scooting around the cottage. Though he hadn't mastered walking yet, he was a champion crawler, and his small size made him fast as a water bug. The child was also very intelligent, and could speak clearly before his first birthday, though his endless insatiable curiosity often got him into mischief.

Such as the time he crawled over to Lauren's workbasket, which she had foolishly forgotten to put up out of reach of little hands, and proceeded to pull out all the balls of yarn and the knitting needles, ending up tangling himself in three different shades of yarn and banging the needles on the floor.

The noise had brought Aimee in from the kitchen, where she had been chopping herbs for a tisane for old Martha Crowe. "What in—oh, Rumple!" she gasped upon seeing her charge looking like a living skein of yarn.

The little boy grinned up at her, his brown eyes alight with mischief. "Mama, look! I playing!"

Aimee bit back a smile, for her heart warmed whenever the little scamp called her that. Aimee was the one who was most often home with Rumple, as her other two sisters often went out among the villagers or worked in the shop most days. So Rumple had become the closest to her, and though he loved all three sisters, he only called Aimee "Mama". The others were "Aunt Lauren" and "Aunt Claude".

She cleared her throat and said in a mildly stern tone, "Rumplestiltskin, are you supposed to be touching that?"

The little boy's mouth turned down in a adorable pout and his expressiv _e_ eyes filled with tears. "Mama mad?" The needles clattered to the floor.

Aimee sighed, for she could never remain angry with the little boy for long. "You little imp! I should be, but . . .Aunt Lauren should have been more careful." She gently took the needles away. "No touching, Rumple! You could put your eye out!"

Rumple tried to put a hand over his eye. "Ouch!"

"Yes, you could hurt yourself badly," Aimee told him, then she went to get a scissor from her own basket on the shelf to cut the little imp free of the yarn.

Once the boy was free, Aimee picked him up, and balanced him easily on her hip while she got a broom and swept up all the yarn pieces and used a tiny bit of her charm magic to get the yarn rewound and put back in the basket. Then she put the basket up on the shelf where Rumple couldn't reach it.

She was about to put the child in the corner briefly when she recalled her bread was due to come out of the oven and so she set him on the little sofa and said, "Stay here, Rumple. No moving till I come back!"

The child began to cry quietly, as he was not a very noisy child, and thinking he was in trouble and Aimee was mad at him.

Aimee had just removed the bread from the oven when a knock came at the cottage door. "Just a minute! I'll be right there!" She had many loaves to put on the wooden board on the counter, as she sold her rosemary bread in the shop to customers.

Before she could even get to the door, it opened and a young man with a roguish smile, brown hair, and a pencil thin mustache walked in. His eyes swept the cottage avariciously, then alighted on the boy on the couch. "Well, well! So my little bastard has grown!" he sneered, and walked over to Rumple. "Hello, laddie!"

Rumple shrank from this stranger, who loomed over him, and who smelled funny. He'd never been around a man who smelled of alcohol and pipe smoke before, or indeed many men at all. He held his nose and said, "Peeyew! Stinky!" while trying to scoot backwards on the sofa away from him.

Malcolm's eyes widened. "Why you little brat! Are you saying I smell?"

Rumple nodded, having been taught to always speak the truth.

"Little lame bastard!" Malcolm growled. "C'mere! You and I are gonna take a little trip . . .to the market in Watchman's Rest . . .where there's a man who likes little boys . . .and he'll pay a pretty penny for you!"

He bent to pick up Rumple in his arms.

Terrified, Rumple started screaming.

Aimee raced out of the kitchen, she had assumed it was a client who would wait while she pulled all the loaves from the oven. "What are you doing? Get away from my baby!" she yelled, and snatched up the rug beater in the corner.

Malcolm turned. "He's not yours! He's mine!"

Aimee gasped when she saw who it was. "Yours indeed! You may have sired him, but you never cared spit for him afterwards! Got poor Julia in the family way and went merrily on yours, you tomcat! And _now_ you want to take Rumple away? Not on your life, you miserable bounder!"

"He's mine!"

"Wrong! He's _never_ been yours! I don't know what your game is, you shyster, but you're taking Rumple over my dead body!" Aimee shouted, and she swung the paddle at Malcolm and slammed him a good one right in the backside.

"Owww!" he yelled, clutching it. "Leave off, woman!"

"Get out, you scoundrel! OUT!" she bellowed, and swung the rug beater again, hitting him in an even more tender area.

Malcolm screeched like a girl.

Rumple exploded into giggles. Then he clapped his hands. "Mama beat the bad man!"

Malcolm turned and raced out of the cottage, hunched over, as Aimee chased him down the walk, swinging the paddle for all she was worth.

"Take that! And that! And that!"

People stared at the diminutive woman attacking a man twice her size with the paddle and sending him fleeing down the street. Then they started pointing and laughing.

"Run Kerr!" they hooted. "Afore she beats your brains in!"

Malcolm was trying to get away for all he was worth. "Crazy witch!"

"Get out!" Aimee yelled. "And don't come back!"

Several of the villagers, who knew of Malcolm's reputation as a swindler, cheat, and ne'er do well, clapped as the woman went back into her house.

Aimee ran over to Rumple, who was still on the sofa, and she scooped him into her arms and hugged him tightly, her hands carding his floofy silky brown hair. "Oh, Rumple! He won't hurt you, not ever again! I promise! Never!" She cuddled the boy close, loving his sweet milky smell, his cheek pressed against hers. This would be the only child she would ever have, and she loved him with all the fierce devotion of a true mother, even though she had not bore him.

Rumple wound his arms around her neck, he always loved how she smelled—like yeast and honey and rosemary. "I love Mama!" he said, and kissed her cheek.

Aimee smiled and kissed him back. "I love my Rumple."

"How much?" he laughed.

"All the way to the moon!" she said and held him above her head. Then she lowered him back down. "And back."

He held out his arms wide, laughing sweetly. "This much?"

"More!" she grinned. "I love you more than anything in the whole world!"

And she would protect him till her last breath. From anyone and anything that would threaten him.

Because of Malcolm's unexpected visit, Aimee decided she needed to make Rumple a protection charm. Charms were her specialty, like Claudette's was Foreseeing and Lauren's was enchantment and green growing things. All the sisters could spin and weave like masters, their talents in that area known far and wide. Less so were their talents in the magical arts, since most magic workers were distrusted in this part of the kingdom.

So Aimee took several scraps of soft leather and wove them together into a bracelet and in the middle she put a bronze R and using her magic, charmed the bracelet to protect Rumple against any that might do him harm. That night she put it on the little boy, and from then on it never left his wrist.

Lauren also wove a spell around the cottage, shop, and garden to prevent Malcolm from ever coming inside or near Rumple while he was home. None of the sisters ever wanted that bounder near their son again.

"Or else he'll get my broom broken over his head!" Claudette vowed as she knitted some socks for Rumple.

"Will he keep his distance then?" asked Lauren as she spun some green thread.

"For now, he will, dearie," Claudette answered. But whether or not he'd return, her Sight did not show.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Over at the Avignon house, Belle proved as much a handful as her slightly older counterpart. The little girl proved to be an adorable cherub with huge blue eyes the color of sapphires at midnight and ringlets of auburn hair. She had chubby cheeks and a gamin grin that made her parents laugh even when they wanted to scold her for something.

Belle was able to walk at eleven months, and she toddled everywhere in the cottage, and liked to explore. Once Elena went crazy looking for her only to find her playing underneath some blankets in the armoire. Another time she crawled beneath their bed and fell asleep playing a game of hide and seek with Maurice, and he thought she'd wandered away and nearly tore the cottage apart to find her.

But one of her favorite things to do was to sit and read books, and she carried a picture book with her and would run to her parents and hold it out and beg in her little voice, "Read! Read to me, Papa!"

And most of the time her parents would happily put aside whatever they'd been doing and do so.

But occasionally they were too busy to read to her and then would tell her to go play quietly with her rag doll and stuffed puppy. Belle would obey for a time, but eventually she'd grow bored and go off to see what else there was to do. One day Elena was busy sewing a tear Maurice had put in his breeches and Maurice was drawing something in his workshop and Belle stopped playing with her doll Rose long enough to spot something new atop Maurice's desk in the alcove.

The little girl climbed upon his chair and leaned over to see what it was. It was a wooden apparatus with big colored wooden beads on wire that moved from side to side. It was Maurice's abacus, that he used to count money and other things. Next to it was a bottle of ink.

Belle's chubby hands reached out and slid the beads up and down, the way she had seen her papa doing. "One, two, three!" she crowed. Like Rumple she could talk fairly well, though she was not as chatty as her older counterpart.

As she reached for the second row of beads, her elbow struck the bottle of ink and upended it.

Viscous dark fluid leaked all over the desk.

"Uh oh!" she cried, then put her hand on it, trying to stop the stain.

She looked at her hand, then tried to wipe it off on her pretty blue dress. A black blotch appeared on her dress.

Then she tried to wipe it off on the desk itself, and soon little black handprints were all over.

Maurice came in from the shop to show Elena the new drawings he'd made of a machine that could lift rocks, and didn't see his little girl and asked, "Where's Belle?"

"She was right there on the hearth, dear, playing with her doll," Elena said, and pointed to where her daughter had been playing just minutes before.

Maurice coughed. "Elena, she's not there now," he said.

Then he heard a little giggled and turned around . . to see his daughter sitting on his chair . . .spattered with ink and inky handprints decorating the desk and the walls.

"Belle! Good heavens!" he cried.

"Oh, Maurice! Your desk! The ink!" Elena gasped. "She . . .moves like lightning! Belle, you naughty little minx!"

The child looked at them and said, "Mama, write . . like Papa!"

Maurice turned away before he burst out laughing.

Elena shook her head ruefully. "I ought to know better than to expect you to stay in one place for long. Come here!" She took her daughter and tried to wash off her ink stained hands and scolded her gently and put her in the corner for a few minutes while she and Maurice wiped the ink off the desk using some sand.

Then she gave Belle a bath and removed her soiled dress and replaced it with another one. "Maybe you need to wear a pinafore," Elena sighed. "I wish I knew of a way to get ink out of clothes."

"Maybe you ought to ask the wise women," suggested Maurice.

"Maybe I should," his wife said. Like Maurice, she owed the sisters a great debt for saving her life and Belle's life and she admired the three women for living as they did, on their own terms with no man to support them and even raising a child themselves.

The blue dress was one of Belle's favorites and Elena didn't want to have to cut it up for scraps. It had been a gift from her mother before they had moved here to Hearthstone. Elena went and picked up her daughter. "Come on, Belle. Let's go and pay a visit to the Spinner sisters."

It was what the villagers called them, though their true name was Valcourt. But since they were among simple country folk, the sisters didn't mind their new appellation.

It was a short walk to the spinsters shop and cottage, and Elena made the trip easily with Belle in her arms and the dress tucked into a pocket of her apron. She waved to some of the villagers they passed and when she reached the spinners' cottage, she knocked upon the door.

The blue door was opened a moment later by Aimee. "Elena! What brings you by?"

Elena smiled at her. "Oh, I have a question for you, Aimee."

"Come in then and have a cup of tea." Aimee invited. "Hello, Belle!"

Belle smiled shyly. "Hi!" she waved her little hand at Aimee.

"She's getting so big," exclaimed Aimee, leading the way into the cottage.

"I know and look, she's walking!" Elena said proudly and set Belle down.

Belle toddled over to the sofa and looked around. Rumple was playing with his stuffed horse on the rug, and looked up when he saw the other child.

Then he crawled over to Belle, his brown eyes sparkling. "Hi! I Rumple!" he pointed to himself. "Who're you?"

"Belle," she answered.

Rumple pulled himself up to an awkward stand by holding onto the sofa. He held out his horse. "Wanna play with my horsie?"

Belle nodded and said, "Oohh! Pretty!"

The stuffed horse was made of buttery gold leather and had a black mane and tail of yarn. It also had button eyes sewn on with triple thick thread and a cunning saddle as well. The horse had been made by Lauren, and it was Rumple's favorite toy besides his little blue striped blankie.

Aimee's eyes widened. "Well! That's amazing! He's usually so attached to that horse, he hardly lets it out of his arms."

"And now he's sharing with Belle," Elena remarked. "How sweet!"

Belle took the horse and made a soft neighing noise. "The horsie says-neigh!"

Rumple nodded. "An' the kitty says-mrrow!"

Both women chuckled.

"It looks like they've made a new friend," Elena said, and then she showed Aimee the ink-stained dress and explained how it had happened.

"Oh dearie me! Yours gets into as much mischief as my little imp!" Aimee said, and then took the dress and said, "This is a bad stain, but you can remove easily with a paste of milk and cornstarch. Come, I'll show you."

While the two children played, Aimee showed Elena how to make a paste and then spread it on the stain. "Now let it soak and wash it off tomorrow in hot water and you will see it will be gone."

"Thank you!" Elena said. "I feared it was completely ruined."

"No. You'll find that most stains are easy to get out once you know how," Aimee told her.

They smiled at their offspring, who were now sitting on the rag rug before the hearth, and Belle was playing peek-a-boo with Rumple's blankie, and the little boy was giggling delightedly and hugging his horse.

"Usually Rumple's so shy around people he doesn't know," Aimee said, amazed that her son was so relaxed around a girl he'd only just met.

"Belle is sometimes also. But she seems to love playing with Rumple." Elena murmured. "Perhaps it might be good to arrange a playdate."

"Yes. I think that would be good for both of them," agreed Aimee. She wanted Rumple to get accustomed to meeting people besides her and her sisters, and having another child to play with would help him overcome his shyness.

"How about tomorrow around twelve?" suggested Elena.

"Yes, that would be fine," Aimee nodded.

"I'd best get back home. Maurice will be wanting his supper soon," said his wife, then she went to collect her daughter. "Belle, time to go home."

Belle's face crumpled. "No! Play wif Rumple!"

"You can play with Rumple tomorrow, sweetie," Elena persuaded. "Now we have to go home and cook for Papa."

"I help!" Belle said, then she went and hugged Rumple. "Bye, Rumple! See you 'morrow!"

Rumple looked woebegone. "Bye, dearie!" he called, and waved as Elena carried Belle away. He crawled over to Aimee and tugged her skirt. "Mama, Belle go 'way?"

"Yes, she went home, dearie. But she'll be back tomorrow."

Rumple clapped his hands. "Yay!"

Little did he know, this was the beginning of a very special friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you all liked this glimpse of baby Rumple and Belle. Review and let me know if you want more of them!


	3. Whitewash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rumple bond more and get into lots of mischief!

 

 

By the time Belle and Rumple were sixteen months old, they were inseparable playmates. Almost everyday they were with each other for at least several hours, either with Aimee or Lauren or with Elena at her cottage. Maurice was busy surveying some land for Lady Jeanette’s noble husband, Jean-Paul, so he wasn’t home during the day. When most of her housework was done and supper started, Elena visited with the Spinner sisters and that was when Rumple played with Belle, or on Wednesdays when Elena did laundry, she brought Belle over to Rumple’s house to play while she washed and hung the clothes, since doing so was difficult with a toddler underfoot.

The Spinners had specific chores for each day of the week, and Rumple soon learned what they were, as the sisters taught him a little saying for each day—Wash on Monday, Iron on Tuesday, Mend on Wednesday, Churn on Thursday, Clean on Friday, Bake on Saturday, Rest on Sunday.

Monday was wash day, a job that both Lauren and Aimee accomplished together, since it often took an entire day. First water was heated on the stove or in the fireplace. When the water came to a boil, soap shavings were added and the water was stirred until the soap dissolved. Next the clothes were dumped in. First the whites were washed, then the colored clothes. The clothes boiled for ten minutes and were then removed and rubbed with homemade soap and scrubbed on a ribbed washboard. After all the clothes had been washed the tub was filled with fresh water to rinse the clothes with.

Rumple always asked if he could help when he saw his mama or aunt doing chores, and finally one day Aimee got a small deep mixing bowl and filled it with warm water and gave it to Rumple with a bit of soap in it and said, “Now you wash your blankie, Rumple.”

“I wash my blankie, Mama!” he declared proudly, and put his beloved blue and white striped blankie into the bowl and swished it about like he saw his mother and aunt do with the clothes. “Swish! Swish!”

Water splashed all over, but since he was outside in the back yard, no one cared. The little boy was barefoot, with his breeches rolled up to the knee and a small light shirt on. His ever present stick was beside the “tub”, and he happily washed his blanket, getting rather soaked in the process.

But it was a warm day, with the sun shining brightly, and he soon dried and then Lauren hung his blankie on the clothes line with the other wash they had done so far, like petticoats, nighties, socks, caps, washrags, panties, and Rumple’s diapers.

As the clothes flapped in the breeze and dried, Rumple clapped his hands and laughed. Then he spied a patch of pretty pink larkspur growing beside the big oak tree and went and picked them.

“Mama, look! Flowers for you n’ Auntie Lauren!” he presented the larkspur to Aimee with all the gravity of a subject presenting a chest of jewels to a queen.

“Rumple, they’re lovely!” Aimee said, beaming. “How sweet of you, dearie!” Then she put them in a little jam jar on the window ledge.

On Tuesday both households did their ironing and Belle and Rumple were taught to never come by the hot iron on the ironing board. In order to avoid accidents, Aimee took Rumple with her out to the kitchen garden and showed him how to pull weeds and Maurice did the same with Belle while Elena starched and ironed his shirts.

Wednesday was mending day in the Spinner household, which also meant spinning and weaving, and Claudette made Rumple a little toy spinning wheel that spun around with some yarn scraps so he could “spin” also. Belle saw it when she came over one day and cried for one of her own, so the next week she came on Wednesday, Claudette gave her one as well. To distinguish between them, Claudette painted the spokes of Belle’s wheel blue and Rumple’s yellow.

The two toddlers loved to pretend they were doing “work” and happily spun and played together on the rug by the hearth while the sisters sewed and spun thread.

Thursday was when Aimee churned butter for the week, and Rumple often accompanied her to the little barn where they kept Sally, the gentle black and white goat, and watched as Aimee milked her. Aimee always milked a small cup for him first and Rumple would drink it while his mama milked a pailful to churn, his little mouth covered in a milk mustache.

Then Aimee poured the milk into some long metal pans and left it to sit so the cream separated from the milk. Then she skimmed off the cream into a pan and poured it into the churn. When the cream was ready, Aimee put the long wooden dash into the churn and then put the cover over it. The dash was moved up and down through the hole in the cover until the cream was thick and grainy. Then Aimee took the lump of butter out of the buttermilk and washed it several times in cold water until the water ran clear. Next the butter was salted. After that Aimee molded the butter in the little butter-mold, which was carved in the shape of a teacup.

She put the buttermilk into a pitcher and the regular milk in another, which would be used for tea or for Rumple to drink with breakfast or supper. Lauren liked to drink the buttermilk and Aimee would use some in batter for griddle cakes, so nothing was wasted.

Friday was cleaning day for both households, and floors were swept and mopped, rugs beaten, blankets and rooms aired out, and everything polished and dusted. Elena made a little broom for Belle so she could sweep alongside her, and Rumple had a small mop so he could wash the floor like a big boy with Lauren. Belle also had a little featherduster and “dusted” the chairs and once she dusted Maurice when he came home for lunch, and the inventor laughed and scooped her up and tossed her into the air and cried, “You tried to dust me, _ma petite_?”

Belle giggled and cried, “More, Papa!”

Maurice laughed and obligingly tossed her into the air again.

Then he caught her and hugged her, rubbing his bristly chin alongside her soft cheek till she squealed. “Shave, Papa! Scratchy!”

Elena started laughing. “I guess she told you, darling!”

Maurice ran a hand over his chin. “I suppose I could shave again,” he chuckled.

Saturday was baking day, and the day when Malcolm had shown up and tried to take Rumple, but the child soon forgot about the bad man after a time, and he loved baking day, when Aimee made rosemary bread and cookies or brownies.

Aimee always saved a small bit of dough for Rumple to make his own “loaf” of bread or cookies, though he usually ended up eating the cookie dough, and Aimee would tickle him and call him “Cookie Monster.”

Rumple would kiss her cheek and smile his sweet smile and say, “I love Mama!” and laugh when she poked his tummy.

Now usually Sunday was considered a rest day free from chores where people took it easy and relaxed. But on one particular summer Sunday, a lanky boy of about eleven with a shock of red hair and freckles knocked upon the blue door of the sisters’ cottage. He was dressed in serviceable brown breeches and a cream linen shirt, chewing on a piece of straw.

Lauren opened up the door, and upon seeing who was there, said, “Your Aunt Polly send you on over, Tom?”

“Yes’m,” the boy, whose name was Tom Sawyer, an orphan who lived with his maiden aunt, Polly, a few houses down answered. “I’m here to do any chores you might have.”

“Good. As a matter of fact I have one chore you can start today and finish the next weekend,” Lauren declared.

“What’s that, Miss Lauren?”

“Whitewash the front of the house,” Lauren answered.

Tom gasped in dismay. “The whole thing?”

“Well, it wouldn’t do to whitewash half the front, now would it?” she clucked.

Tom groaned.

“Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to play pranks and set lizards loose in my shop, now will you, young man?” Lauren wagged a finger at him.

“No ma’am!” the ten-year-old sighed, for that was the reason he was here on Sunday doing chores, as repayment for his mischief a few days before, when he’d visited the shop with his Aunt Polly.

“You’ll find the can of whitewash in the shed along with a brush.” Lauren ordered briskly. “The sooner you begin, the sooner you’ll be able to break for lunch.”

“Okay, Miss Lauren,” Tom said glumly. He went to get the can of whitewash.

Inside, Rumple and Belle were playing on the rug as usual. They were playing castle, and Belle was the princess and Rumple her knight, and he was going on a quest for her like they did in the storybook Claudette read to him.

But after an hour, the two grew tired and Aimee went and put them both down for naps on the sofa. While the two slept, she began to make chicken rice soup in her old black cauldron. Meanwhile, Tom finished whitewashing half the front of the house and decided he was tired too, and took a break for twenty minutes. Then he decided to eat lunch and went inside to see what was cooking, leaving the open can of whitewash and the paint brush sitting on the porch.

“Something sure smells good, Miss Aimee,” Tom said wistfully.

Aimee turned to see the lanky boy standing behind her. “If you’d like a bowl of soup, Tom, go and wash up over there.”

Tom quickly did so and then sat down with a big bowl of soup and a piece of Aimee’s fresh rosemary bread with butter.

As the boy ate hungrily, the two toddlers woke up and walked towards the cottage door, which was half open since Tom forgot to close it all the way in his haste.

Rumple walked out onto the porch, blinking in the sunlight. Belle followed.

The little girl spotted the open can of whitewash. “What’s that, Rumple?”

Rumple looked at it. “Milk?” he guessed.

But when he went over to the can he wrinkled his nose. “Yuck!”

Then Belle saw the paint brush. Her papa sometimes used one to paint things he was making. “Paint!” she yelled.

Rumple frowned. “Paint?”

“Uh huh!” Belle went and grabbed the brush, then she waved it around and whitewash dripped on the ground. Then she went to paint the porch.

“My turn!” Rumple sang after a moment.

“No, me!”

“Me!”

Belle shook her head stubbornly.

Rumple sighed and then went and dipped a hand in the whitewash. Then he began making handprints on the porch.

Within ten minutes both Belle and Rumple were spattered with whitewash. Rumple had two streaks down each cheek like war paint, and Belle had whitewash in her hair and had walked in it and it was on the bottom of her little shoes.

Tom went and thanked Aimee for lunch and went to complete his task.

“Holy hopping horny toads!” he screeched when he saw the two babies and the wreck they’d made with the whitewash. “Miss Aimee! Your young’uns got into a peck o’ trouble! You’d better come and see this!”

Rumple glanced up from where he was “making pictures” on the porch floor. “I’s drawin’!”

“Pretty!” Belle said, tracing a flower on the floor.

Aimee came running out to see what was going on.

“Oh great Circe!” she exclaimed upon seeing her two charges covered head to foot with whitewash. “Rumplestiltskin and Belle! What are you two doing?”

“Paintin’!” the two imps chorused.

“You know you shouldn’t be touching things like that,” she scolded.

Both babies looked ashamed and started sniffling.

“Mama mad?” Rumple’s eyes grew misty.

“Sorry,” Belle apologized.

“Aww shucks!” Tom giggled, then coughed when he got a sharp Look from Aimee.

“Landsakes!” she groaned. “You two look like paint monsters! And how did you get into the whitewash?”

“Err . . .I kinda left the can open,” Tom admitted.

Aimee sighed. “Oh dearie dearie dear! Well, what’s done is done. But next time, Tom, put the lid on. And now I suppose you might as well paint the floor too.”

“Dearie dearie dear!” Rumple repeated, smirking.

Tom rolled his eyes. Darn babies!

“Come here, you two scamps!” Aimee ordered, trying not to smile at the sight the two presented. “You two need a bath!”

“Yay! Bath time!” sang Belle, for she loved playing in the bathtub.

“You want some help?” offered Tom, not anxious to start whitewashing again.

Aimee shook her head. “No, dearie. I can manage,” she answered, and picked up both children and brought them inside.

She floated a towel onto the floor of the kitchen and said, “Now you two stay right on here and no moving while I get the tub. Or else it’s the corner for you.”

Both mischievous toddler shook their heads and stayed still while Aimee got the tub, filled with warm water, and put lavender soap shavings into the water. Once the tub was filled with bubbles, she helped the two undress and get in.

“Here, play with these till I wash you,” Aimee said, and gave them a duck, a squid and a mermaid to play with while she went to get some fresh clothes for them.

Luckily, Elena had packed an extra dress and Aimee summoned pants and a shirt for Rumple.

Then she scrubbed both children from head to toe, and it took extra long to get the paint out of Belle’s hair.

By then Tom had finished painting almost all of the porch and opened the door to tell Aimee he was finished and could he go home for the day, as he still had things to do around his own home for his aunt.

“Mistress?” he called, walking into the cottage.

“In here, Tom,” Aimee called.

She was fetching some towels and diapers from the chest in Rumple’s room.

Tom went towards the sound of her voice, once again forgetting to close the door.

Now Rumple and Belle were still in the large wooden tub in the kitchen, which faced the front door so you could see who entered and left the cottage, and both were splashing delightedly in the sudsy water. But the open door let in a summer breeze and Rumple shivered slightly and looked towards it.

It was then that a stray calico kitten happened to walk across the porch which was almost dry to nibble on a potted plant beside the door.

Rumple, who had very sharp eyes, and noticed everything, spotted the cat immediately. “Kitty!” he pointed to it. “Here kitty, kitty!”

Rumple loved cats, loved to pet them and play with them, and the sisters had thought about getting him a kitten eventually, when he was old enough to treat it gently and take care of it.

The calico was startled and crouched in the doorway, giving Belle a glimpse of it also before fleeing.

“No! ‘Mere, kitty!” Rumple wailed.

Meanwhile, Aimee went to the apothecary chest in the bedroom to give Tom a syrup for his Aunt Polly’s cough, which was why she wasn’t there in time to corral Rumple as he climbed out of the tub, grabbed his stick, and limped right across the cottage and over to the door, dripping soap suds and naked as the day he was born.

“Here kitty, kitty!” he called.

“I help get the kitty!” Belle cried and then she also jumped out of the tub and followed.

Tom was headed out the door when he stopped dead. “I’ll be hornswoggled! Mistress Spinner, you got some tadpoles escapin’!”

“I’ve got what?” Aimee said, coming out of the bedroom just in time to see the two toddlers run out the door naked after the vanished cat.

“ _Rumplestilstkin!_ ” she shrieked. “Come back here you scamp! Belle!”

The babies ignored her, all their attention was focused on finding the cat that had run away and they toddled outside totally uncaring that they were wet and naked.

“Kitty, kitty!”

Tom was cracking up, till Aimee swatted him on the back of the head and yelled, “Don’t just stand there, Master Sawyer! Help me get them!”

She ran out the door calling, “Rumple! Never mind the cat!”

Tom straightened up and went to help, hotfooting it down the porch steps barefoot and still snickering.

Angelique Muffet, Mary Contrary, and Susannah Sprat were on their porches lounging and visiting when they saw the two babies streaking across the Spinners’ yard.

“Oh my goodness!”

“Will you look at that!”

“Ohh! My Peter did that once!”

All three started laughing.

Rumple paused, looking forlornly after the missing cat. “Here, kitty!”

“Rumplestiltskin!” Aimee panted, finally catching up to him and wrapping him in a towel. “You don’t run outside without a stitch on!”

“Mama, I pet the kitty!”

“Oh, you and your cats!” she scolded while her neighbors giggled hysterically. “You’re going to be the crazy old cat man!”

“C’mere, li’l lady!” Tom grinned and picked up Belle, wrapping her in a second towel.

“Kitty go bye!” she told him.

“Yup, an’ I would too if I had two young’uns after me!” Tom winked.

They brought the two babies back into the cottage chased by the laughter of their neighbors.

“These kids are slicker n’ greased pigs!” Tom said after he’d set Belle down.

“Thank you, Tom,” Aimee said. “Here’s a few cookies to take with you.”

Tom’s eyes lit up. “Thank you kindly, Mistress Spinner.”

“I wanna cookie!” Rumple cried.

“How do you ask?”

“Pwease!” he lisped. “Pwease may I, Mama?”

“Very good!” she kissed him. “And you can have one when you’re dry, scamp.” She waved a hand at Tom. “Go on, Tom. Come back next weekend and you can finish the rest of the house.”

Tom darted out the door lickety-split, this time remembering to close it.

Inside, Aimee began drying her two intrepid little cat chasers, thinking she would have a funny story to tell her sisters when they came home for supper and one to store in her memory and share with her son to make him blush when he was old enough to go courting.


	4. Blankies and Bullies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Belle go to the market and run into a certain bully who steals Rumple's blankie but the bully gets his . . and so does Malcolm!

Though small for his age, Rumple soon proved he was quite smart for two and a half, recalling whole stories after hearing them only once or twice from his mama and aunts, as well as anything else someone happened to say in front of him. Lauren said he repeated gossip as well as any housewife over the garden gate, and on occasion repeated things he shouldn't.

Such as the time a customer walked into the shop while he was playing with his blankie behind the counter, complaining about the wretched weather and how his wife was bitching at him again, and he needed something to take the edge off his bursitis.

While Claudette mixed up a tonic for him, Rumple hummed to himself, pretending he was hiding in a cave from an ogre, and put the blankie over his head, and pondering the words he'd just heard from Angus McRae's mouth.

McRae thanked Claudette and left, and Claudette turned to Lauren and said, "Honestly, that Angus gets grouchier every day!"

Just then the little bell over the shop tinkled and Lenore Snowdon came in. Now Lenore tended to put on airs and she was only here to see if one of the sisters could make her a potion to ensure her youth was preserved, as she was almost twenty-nine and starting to be past her prime, as she put it. She was a tall willowy blond with sharp blue eyes and a pretty pouting mouth and sculpted cheekbones. She was wearing a pretty pink day dress and a large hat with colored flowers on it.

Claudette's eyes bugged out when she saw the hat. She thought it made Lenore look like a walking planter. "How may I help you?"

"I need a potion, Spinner," Lenore declared prissily.

"And what ails you?" queried Claudette. "A sour stomach? Poor digestion?"

Lenore glared at her. "No. I'm getting old!"

"So does everyone," Lauren put in tartly. "There's only one other alternative, you know."

"I heard you can make magic potions to stop aging," Lenore whispered. "I'll take one if you have it."

Lauren cocked her head at the young woman. "And what would you be needing one of those  
for?"

"I just told you . . .I'm getting _old_!"

Claudette started to giggle and had to turn away.

Rumple peered out from behind the counter, his thumb in his mouth, at the odd lady. He had his blankie in one hand and was leaning on the counter.

Lenore felt eyes on her and turned. "The brat's grown some since you last brought him to market." She sniffed, then said in a high falsetto such as one uses to a tiny baby or a dog, "Haven't you, wittle Wumple?"

Rumple remained silent, wondering who she was talking to. He stared at her with wide eyes.

"A bit slow is he?" Lenore snorted. "Figures given who his mama was. Juliette Marchand was a bit of a loony."

"Julia was very depressed after Malcolm abandoned her and her papa threw her out." Claudette said defensively. "She wasn't stupid and neither is Rumple!"

Lenore rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Claudette! I know he's your fosterling, but he looks like a simpleton. Why, I'll bet he can't even say a whole sentence or say what the weather's like."

"The weather's gray an' gloomy an' the wind blows right through your old bones, an' I ain't got a moment's peace with all your bitching, woman!" Rumple replied, repeating what Angus had said just ten minutes before about his wife.

Lenore gasped, her mouth opening and shutting like a landed trout. "Well! I never!"

"Excuse me!" Lauren coughed and then dashed into the back room of the shop before she exploded into giggles right there.

Claudette had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from busting out laughing. "Still think he's stupid, Lenore?" she queried. Then she turned and shook a finger at her charge. "Rumplestiltskin! Don't you go repeating what that foul mouthed grouch says!"

"Humph! Calling me a bitch! Don't you teach the brat any manners, Claudette?"

Rumple eyed the woman, thinking she was too shrill and loud and added another saying he'd heard. "If the shoe fits, missy."

Lenore turned bright red. "How _dare_ you?" she cried. "Why I oughta—"

She lifted a hand to the child, but Claudette grabbed her wrist and hissed, "Touch my child, Snowdon and I'll give you a black eye and some crooked teeth to go with your old looks!"

"You wouldn't dare!" the other woman huffed. "My father—"

"Try me, Lenore!" Claudette growled. "And your father might be a town alderman now, but he was a farmer same as the rest of the folks here before that, so don't get on your high horse unless you want to get knocked off."

"Oooh! You . . you . . ." Lenore was beet red now and looked like she was on the verge of having apoplexy . . .or a temper tantrum. "Go drown yourself in the lake, you horse faced old prune!" Then she stormed out of the shop.

"Bye, silly bitch!" Rumple called after her.

Claudette lost it then, burying her face in her apron and laughing so hard she nearly broke a rib.

Rumple giggled too . . .and it was only then the youngest sister realized she shouldn't be laughing at something like that and scolded him belatedly and gave him a taste of lemon verbena soap for saying a naughty word . . . though she and her sisters laughed about it all night after tucking Rumple into bed.

"Fancy her thinking our Rumple was a simpleton!" snorted Lauren.

"Well, he certainly proved her wrong, didn't he?" chuckled Aimee.

"And how! Out of the mouths of babes!" Claudette cracked up.

"Serves her right, the haughty piece!" Lauren smirked.

Her sisters agreed.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

In the Avignon household, Belle also kept her parents on their toes. The little girl was forever running around without her shoes on, pulling off her sturdy leather shoes and stockings and leaving them in the middle of the floor. Then she scampered around the cottage or in the yard barefoot, unmindful of mud or splinters.

Elena was forever calling, "Belle! Put your shoes back on!" and then chasing the intrepid child to put her footwear on.

"No, Mama!" Belle grinned. "I likes no shoes on!" Then she scurried away, her small feet pitter pattering across the ground, through the dew soaked grass and dust, her pinafore hem damp and speckled with dirt.

"I don't know how that scamp doesn't manage to get hurt without her shoes on!" she said exasperatedly to her husband one night as they cuddled in their bed while Belle slept in her trundle bed next to them.

"Why, _ma cherie,_ do you not know that when I was a boy, I went without shoes all day and night in the summer and my feet were brown as old leather and twice as tough!" Maurice chortled.

Elena rolled her eyes. "That's fine for you, Maury! You were a boy! But Belle's a girl, how am I going to make a lady out of her when she runs all over like a witchwoman of the woods?"

"Don't fret, my love! Belle's a little child yet. Let her have her freedom now, soon enough she'll be old enough to notice boys and you'll be putting her in corsets and I'll be getting out my bow and waiting to shoot any boy that looks at her crossways." Maurice soothed.

Elena shook her head. "I'm being foolish, aren't I? Wanting her to behave like a lady when she doesn't even know the meaning of the word. And really, they stay little for such a short time, I should cherish this while it lasts. Soon enough she'll be going to school and making friends with other girls and not have time for her old mama."

Though both parents avoided mentioning the fact that Belle might not make friends as easily as they thought . . .due to Claudette's prediction that she would be a Seer. There was time enough to worry about that later.

Elena snuggled against her husband, thanking the gods she had found such an intelligent and understanding man such as Maurice to marry, one who didn't mind his wife with her own ideas and able to read, write, and figure as well as any merchant of Broceliande. She kissed him lightly and fell asleep, wondering what new surprises the morning would bring.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

The next morning Belle ate her buttermilk roll with freshly churned butter and strawberry jam, drinking her goat's milk from her little cup and also some scrambled eggs with some bacon in it. "Mama, we go by Rumple's today?" she asked as she tried to feed herself with her little spoon.

"Today we're going to market, Belle," Elena answered. "Mama needs to sell her samplers and jam and we'll see Rumple then. Now let's eat your breakfast, _cherie_."

The child had more eggs on her dress than inside of her, so Elena patiently helped her eat and then threw the scraps out on the compost heap for fertilizing the garden.

Once she had wiped her daughter's sticky hands and face clean, Elena went to gather her bundle for market, and Belle took a warm bun and said, "I bring one for Rumple, Papa," to her father, who was busy drawing some plans for a new type of water wheel, one that would work better than the old design, drawing more water and being more efficient.

"That's good, Belle, that you share with your friend." Maurice smiled at the auburn-haired tot.

"Sharing is caring," Belle recited a phrase she often heard from Elena.

"Indeed, _ma petite,"_ Maurice agreed. "To share means you have a generous spirit." He picked up his daughter and kissed her. "Never lose that, Belle. A lady is known by her generosity and kindness to others. "Tis how I met your mama—she gave a hungry inventor a few coins so I could buy supper . . . and the next day I returned to thank her and ended up courting her and marrying her and here we are."

Belle smiled her sunny smile and kissed her papa's nose. "Papa, you coming?"

"No, baby girl, I need to stay here today. But your mama will bring you. Have a good time with Rumple."

Belle nodded enthusiastically. "Rumple and I play, Papa."

The inventor gave her a return smile. He liked Rumple for Belle's playmate, as the boy was good natured and intelligent, despite being lame and shy, and he balanced his sometimes impulsive and intrepid daughter.

Belle spotted her favorite book on the table beside his drawings and cried, "Read, Papa! Read 'bout the Gingerbread Man."

"But Belle, you don't have time to read," he protested.

"Read, Papa! A little bit. Pwease!" she begged winsomely.

"Okay. But you twisted my arm." Maurice picked up the book and began to read the gingerbread man tale again.

Elena returned with her market basket and her sack of goods on her arm, and opened her mouth to call out for Belle until she saw the child on her papa's knee, and Maurice reading the familiar story in the children's storybook again. She halted and smiled at the lovely picture they presented, her husband with his flyaway brown curly hair and her daughter with her rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, lisping the words right along with him.

 _My precious child and my beloved . . .the balance of me,_ she thought, her heart swelling with love.

She waited for about ten minutes until Maurice had finished reading the story again before calling Belle to come and go to market with her.

Belle leaped eagerly down and grabbing the roll for Rumple, scampered over and took Elena's hand. "Bye, Papa! Mama n'I are goin' to market!" Then she practically dragged Elena out the door, singing, "To market, to market, to buy a fat hog, home again home again, jiggity jog!"

Elena waved at Maurice, then followed her daughter, the sunlight striking fiery highlights in her dark auburn curls.

Meanwhile, in the Spinner household, Aimee and Lauren were preparing to go to market also to sell Aimee's bread, little pies, and the three sisters' thread, for even though they had their shop with good in it and potions, they always went to market day each week. It was a chance to see their neighbors and chat and get out of the cottage and the shop for a day.

Rumple had his blankie, which he took everywhere, with him, as well as his little stick, carved from a shaft of sturdy black oak with a padded leather grip and one end was padded with leather and lamb's wool so he could tuck it under his arm if he needed to lean on it. The bottom was shod in layers of beaten copper and it had several runes carved in it against rotting and snapping. It would also enlarge as Rumple grew, thus eliminating the necessity of making a new stick each time the boy grew taller.

Rumple's lame left foot was wrapped firmly in some bandages and a light leather slipper, it was twisted inward, making it difficult for him to even put weight on it. But he had learned to compensate for his disability, and could get around with his stick and one foot almost as well as normal children could on two. Except for playing running games and other boyish sports, like stickball and kick ball. Though he could roll or kick a ball with his good foot to Belle or Aimee as long as he made sure his stick was planted firmly.

But not being able to run made it impossible to play any active games with other little boys.

So far, however, Rumple seemed not to mind this lack, content to play with Belle and his aunts and mama.

Though Aimee worried how other children would treat him when he was old enough to attend the little village school, and considered keeping the boy at home.

But that could be discussed later with her sisters. For now she was content to bring Rumple to the market so he could see other villagers and play with Belle, since Elena's stall was right next to theirs.

The Spinners stuffed a basket and a backpack full of their wears and Lauren carried the backpack while Aimee took the basket and Rumple's hand. Then they started off to the market in the village square.

Belle pulled away from Elena when she saw Rumple, coming to hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek. "Rumple! Lookit! I brung you a roll! Mama baked it this morning."

Rumple hugged his friend back and kissed her. "For me? Thanks, Belle!" he took the roll in his free hand and began to eat it. The roll had currants baked in it and some sunflower seeds as well as cinnamon. "Mmmm!"

Belle smiled happily, holding her book in her little satchel. "I likes them too. Yummy!"

While the children greeted each other, their mothers and aunt set up their stalls for the day, setting out their wares and hanging their signs on the wooden booths.

Elena looked over at the two children and pointed to a little grassy area about ten feet away where some other kids were playing with a ball and a wooden hoop. "Why don't you two go over there and play?" she suggested.

"Let's!" Belle agreed and Rumple followed uneasily. He didn't really know that many other kids and was a little nervous and scared. He swallowed the last piece of his roll and wished he had something to drink. Crumbs were all over him.

Belle went over to where some older children, a boy and a girl, were playing. "Hi! Can I play? N' my friend too?"

The girl gave her a snort. "You're too little to play this game. Why don't you and your little friend play your own game? C'mon, Jerry!"

They moved off to the far end of the grassy area.

Belle looked a bit upset. "They said I'm too little."

"Don't worry. We can play together," Rumple said, touching her arm.

"Right. Let's 'tend we're goin' on a quest . . .to save a trapped man from a witch!"

Rumple sat down happily on the grass and put his blankie beside him.

Soon the two were playing with some small sticks and Belle's doll and Rumple had two wooden figures, one a horse and the other a little cornhusk doll with a blue coat.

For nearly an hour they were undisturbed . . .and Aimee sold some of her bread and Elena her jam and some of her embroidery. Lauren bartered for some eggs with her thread and a few other staples, like a cone of brown sugar and flour.

Some birds, attracted by the bread crumbs on Rumple's shirt, came and hopped over to him. Rumple's brown eyes widened and he sat very still as the tiny sparrows and a blue finch came over and began to peck the crumbs off him one at a time.

Belle's blue eyes also widened and she stared at her friend with her mouth gaping.

Rumple had tiny birds all over his shoulders and arms, eating the crumbs off him greedily.

"Oh!" she gasped softly.

It was like something out of a tale.

Aimee and Elena happened to glance over and see the astonishing sight and both women pointed and cried, "Will you look at that! It's like he's a bird feeder! How amazing!"

Their cries drew another boy over to investigate, seven-year-old Gaston, who was bigger, stronger, and meaner than any boy his age in the village. He took great delight in pummeling those who "looked at him funny". And taking other children's treats and pocket money if they had any. He sauntered up to Rumple and Belle and sneered, "Whatcha doin' you dumb bitty babies? Feedin' the birdies?" Then he laughed, spraying spit all over.

"Eww!" Belle cried, wiping spit off her cheek.

The birds, seeing a predator, took flight and Rumple frowned at the older boy. "You scared 'em away!"

"Boo hoo!" Gaston sneered. "Whyn't you cry about it—you big BABY!"

"I . . .I ain't a baby . . ." Rumple stammered, suddenly afraid of this loudmouthed older child.

"Uh huh. You're a big baby that still wears diapers and drinks a bottle!" Gaston brayed. Then he spotted Rumple's blankie. "And needs a blankie!"

"You be quiet, you ole meanie!" Belle cried, giving the other boy her best you're-in-trouble-now glare . . .the same one her mama gave her when she'd been naughty.

Gaston sneered and shoved her down. "Shut up . . .brat!"

Belle started to cry.

Rumple got mad then. "Leave her 'lone!"

"Make me—cripple!" taunted Gaston. "Oh, I forgot! You can't! 'cause you're a little lame bastard!"

"An' you're a big fat farthead!" Rumple cried. He tried to stand up but Gaston shoved his stick and made him fall.

As he tumbled to the ground, Gaston grabbed Rumple's blankie.

Rumple began sniffling. "No! My blankie!"

"Aww! Did the baby lose his blankie?" Gaston cried.

"You give it back!" Belle hollered. Then she did something she never had before.

She ran up to the older boy and kicked him hard in the shin.

Gaston yelped and backed away, still clutching the blanket.

"My blankie!" wailed Rumple, holding out his hands.

Elena and Lauren looked over to see what was going on and Elena cried, "Hey! You! Give that back to Rumple!"

Gaston made a rude gesture at her and darted away down the row of stalls.

Rumple began bawling as he saw his blankie disappearing.

Aimee went and picked up Rumple and hugged him. "It's all right, dearie! We'll get it back! Shhh!"

Belle was crying too because Rumple was. She ran up to her mother, tears streaking her little face. "Mama! That bad boy took Rumple's blankie!"

Elena knelt to dry her daughter's tears. "I know, Belle. But don't worry, sweetie. We'll get it back."

"How, Mama?" asked Belle worriedly.

"This is how," Lauren said coldly, and she made a twirling gesture and called softly, "Gaston Lafarge, come to me!"

Magic sparked from her hands and a long bluish purple thread of light shot out . . . and flew after the nasty bully.

Gaston tried to hide in his papa's smithy, but the seeking thread found him there . . .just as he cut a large hole in Rumple's blankie and was going to throw it into the forge fire. His papa was outside, shoeing a big plow horse.

The glowing thread wrapped around the boy and dragged him back to Lauren.

Lauren tapped her foot when she saw Gaston and the blankie. "Well, boy?" she demanded as the magical thread brought Gaston to her feet. "What have you got to say for yourself, taking my boy's blankie like that?"

"Lemme go you rotten ole witch!" Gaston cried.

Elena scowled. "You ill mannered little brat! How dare you talk to Mistress Lauren like that!"

"He's just like his papa, Elena. No manners and a nasty tongue," snorted Lauren. Gaston's father, Gervase, was a most unpleasant man and no one really liked him, but they feared him and his big fists and loud mouth. Lauren snatched the blankie from Gaston. "Here, Rumple!" she said, giving her nephew the blankie.

Rumple took it and hugged it . . .until he saw the huge hole in it. "My _blankie_!" he shrieked in horror.

He burst into tears.

Lauren spun on the brat. "You ripped his blankie? Why?"

"Felt like it," Gaston shrugged. "So what?"

"Then I suppose you feel like saying sorry to Rumple and picking weeds in my garden for a week," Lauren began.

"I ain't doin' nothin' for you!" Gaston cried, trying to get free.

But the magical thread held him fast.

"Then maybe THIS will convince you!" Lauren snapped. "Since your papa never taught you any manners . . . _I_ will!" And she grabbed the naughty brat by his ear and marched him over to Rumple. "Apologize!"

Gaston yowled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"Now!"

"Sorry!" he cried. Then he bit Lauren and tried to get away, since she had released him from her spell.

"You dare to bite me, boy?" she growled, incensed.

Then without preamble she spun the boy around and delivered six firm swats to Gaston's backside.

Gaston wailed sharply.

All the other villagers looked on in approval. Gervase had let the boy run wild, and he'd had this coming for a long time. But only one of the Spinners would have dared Gervase's temper. They feared no one, man or woman, in Hearthstone.

"Now . . .get on home and tell your papa how you've been a naughty imp and gotten your backside tanned for it!" Lauren ordered, releasing the child.

Gaston backed away, holding his sore behind and bawling, "I'm telling! Pa-a! The Spinner witch spanked me!"

Lauren dusted off her hands.

Several of her neighbors clapped. "Good for you, Missus!"

"About time that brat got what for!"

"And if Gervase tries to give you any grief, Miss Lauren, tell him to talk to me!" said Graham, the forester. "I'll set him straight!"

"He won't," Lauren said. "Because his son was wrong to bully Rumple and bite me and even he knows that."

Meanwhile, Rumple was still upset over his blankie. "It's broken!" he wept.

"Rumple, dearie, don't cry!" Aimee said. "Mama will sew it."

Belle came up to him where he was being cuddled by Aimee. "Rumple . . .it's not broken!" the little girl said. "Now it's a shawl!"

Rumple sniffled. "How?"

"Look!" she took the blankie and pulled it over his head through the hole. "See?"

Rumple stared at the striped blankie he now wore. He stopped crying. He fingered the blankie. "Umm . . . you're right! Mama! It's a shawl now!"

He smiled at Belle as Aimee set him down beside her and handed him his stick. The striped blanket shawl hung almost to his feet, but he didn't care. His blankie was now a shawl, thanks to Belle. And that awful boy had gotten a good spanking from Auntie Lauren in front of the whole market.

Rumple grinned at Belle. "You wanna play with Peter Pan?" he asked Belle, holding out his cornhusk doll.

Belle accepted his offer graciously, then held out her book. "You wanna read a story?"

Rumple took the book and opened it, turning to a page with a giant and began to make up a story-"reading" to Belle while she had Peter Pan and her doll Sue go on a quest to find a magic wand.

Crisis dealt with, the women and men turned back to their booths and selling their wares.

Malcolm stumbled out of the tavern, still nursing a hangover, and saw Rumple beside the Spinner sisters. His bleary piggy eyes narrowed and he considered trying again to snatch the child away. Child slaves were worth their weight in gold at the Thieves Market. And he had a buyer all ready for the boy.

He waited until Lauren and Aimee were busy with customers before he approached the back of the booth and beckoned to Rumple.

"Hey, laddie! Want some candy?" he held out a big rainbow lollipop. He gave the child a big fake smile.

Rumple looked up and shook his head warily. He remembered the man from before . . . and how his mama had chased him off with the broom. "Go way!"

"Not without you!" Malcolm snarled, and he went to snatch Rumple up.

But the bracelet Rumple wore suddenly repelled Malcolm . . .right across the way into some soldiers who were crossing the street.

"Watch where you're going, you idiot!" yelled one, smacking Malcolm on the back of the head.

"Hey now, I didn't mean . . ." the sneaky man began.

His companion eyed him. "Hey! I haven't seen you report for muster yet!"

"That's Malcolm Kerr!" hooted a woman selling aprons.

"The only thing he's good for is a hand of cards and stealing your ale and money!"

The big soldier grabbed Malcolm by the shirt. "That so? Well, now you're a member of the army, my lad!"

Malcolm tried to get away, but the soldier held him fast. "Now wait a minute, man! I'm not good soldier material. I've got a crick in me spine! And a weak stomach. You don't want me in your army, honest!"

"We need people like you . .everyone serves . . ." grunted the soldier. "No matter what. Now get your ass in gear . . .recruit!" He kicked Malcolm in the backside to get him moving.

As they frogmarched his father away, Rumplestiltskin giggled. "Bye bye, dumb bastard!" he called.

" _Rumplestiltskin_!" Aimee shouted, while everyone else around her doubled over laughing.

This was a market day that the villagers wouldn't soon forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:Hope you all caught the referece to Beauty and the Beast in there and liked it! I just had to use it . . .hope you all liked and thanks for all the awesome reviews!


	5. Hush Little baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Belle start school but all does not go as they hoped

 

**5**

**Hush Little Baby**

_Three years later:_

 

Belle held Rumple’s hand as they made their way along the main street of the village to the little white schoolhouse situated at the end of the street, with its bell and the playground with the swings and teetertotter and wooden castle. It was their first day of school and both children were eager to see the inside of the schoolroom and meet their new teacher, Miss Mary Mack and other children their age.

Belle was wearing a new buttercup yellow dress with a ruffle hem and a sweetheart neckline edged in lace, with matching frilly stockings and soft black leather shoes. She had her hair done up in a pretty matching bow and her cerulean eyes were wide with excitement. In one hand she carried her school satchel and a lunch sack.

Rumple was also dressed in new clothing, a pair of soft kidskin breeches and cunning boots that laced up to his knees. His shirt was a soft blue color, almost the color of the sky, and a tooled vest accompanied it. His flyaway floofy hair was caught back in a tail, and he limped along gamely with his stick. His brown leather satchel was in his shoulder and inside was his lunch sack. His other hand held Belle’s.

As they walked down the street, some other children came and joined them. There was Cora, the plump and pretty miller’s daughter, in her red dress with pigtails and shiny new shoes, and her friend Bo Peep, a dark haired child in a pink candy-striped dress with matching shoes and a frilly parasol, her hair all done up in curled ringlets with a huge pink bow in it. She put her nose in the air as soon as she saw Rumple and Belle.

“Look! It’s the inventor’s daughter and her little crippled friend!” she giggled to Cora.

Cora laughed nastily. “Crazy old Maurice! And how’s your coward papa, Rumple? Get any letters yet telling you if he’s still alive?”

“My papa’s not crazy!” Belle snapped.

Rumple just looked at the ground. There was no denying what Malcolm was, the news had come back to the village six months after Malcolm had been hauled off to boot camp. Malcolm had gotten a sentry drunk one night with some filched whiskey and done a runner. Deserted his post as lookout and the army and no one had ever heard from him again.

And now he was branded a coward and so was his son.

“You’re a little lame bastard, Rumplestiltskin!” jeered George Porgy, a tall kid with blond hair and pugnacious features in a set of good brown breeches and a white shirt with a brown tunic with gold edging on it. His papa was a merchant and one of the richest men in the village.

“A _yellow_ lame bastard!” snorted his friend Felix, another blond with an aqua and green shirt and black breeches. He also was taller then Rumple, but then most of the children were, since Rumple was small for his age. He gave Rumple a shove. “Ain’t that right, Rumpy?”

Rumple staggered, grabbing his stick hard. “I . . .I’m not a coward! My papa might be, but I’m not!” he tried to speak up boldly, like Aunt Lauren had told him to do when people brought that up. But he was afraid of Felix, who had the reputation of making kids eat dirt if he didn’t like them.

“Oh yes you are!” Felix jeered and pointed at him. “Crippled coward!”

“Crippled coward! Crippled coward! Can’t run can only hide! Crippled coward!” taunted George. Then he grabbed Rumple’s stick and yanked it, making the little boy fall on the ground. “Aww! Did the coward baby fall down?”

Rumple just looked at his feet, a flush spreading over his cheekbones, his eyes filled with tears for the fall had bruised him and he didn’t know why these children were being so mean to him when he’d done nothing to them.

“You leave him alone, you brats!” Belle shouted, going to help Rumple up.

“Whatcha gonna do about it, Clara-Belle?” brayed Felix. “Mooo!”

“He’s a coward and she’s a cow!” hooted George.

Bo and Cora cracked up and started making mooing noises.

Belle glared at them. “You shut up! I’m not a cow!”

“Mooo mooo!” Bo warbled.

Belle managed to get Rumple to his feet, who had gone quiet as he sometimes did when he was nervous. “You all right?”

He nodded and leaned on his stick. He felt sick to his stomach and wished he were home with his mama and aunts, helping in the shop. He had been looking forward to going to school and showing everyone how smart he was, how he could read and even reckon some with an abacus like Lauren had taught him, but now he just wanted to run back home and crawl under the bed.

“Crybaby! You gonna cry now?” demanded George rudely.

Rumple sniffled, for he was a sensitive child and the others’ cruelty cut him to the bone.

“Shut up Georgie Porgy!” Belle cried angrily. “Why you pickin’ on Rumple? He didn’t do nothin’ to you!”

“He’s a lame bastard and a coward like his papa, that’s why!”

“And he exists!” put in Felix. “My mama said the Spinners should left him in the forest for the wolves to eat rather than raise up another no account coward like his papa!”

Rumple cringed.

“Maybe he _was_ raised by wolves!” Cora sniffed. Then she pointed at Rumple. “Look! He’s all dirty!”

Rumple looked down and realized his new breeches had gotten dust on them when he’d fallen. He tried to brush them off while Bo Peep sneered, “Eeew! He’s a dirty boy! Probably has fleas!”

“I do not!” Rumple cried softly, managing to find his voice at last.

Suddenly Belle felt something hot and prickly behind her eyes and she turned upon Bo Peep and said, “Rumple doesn’t have fleas, but _you’re_ gonna get lice and have to shave your head bald!” she could See the offensive brat in her mind clear as day getting her hair washed with turpentine and then someone cutting it because she had bugs in her hair.

“No I won’t!” Bo squealed, clutching her fat sausage shaped ringlets.

“Oh, but you will,” Belle assured her in an eerily grown-up voice. “And your mama will have to cut all your beautiful hair off and make you wear a yellow rose printed kerchief.”

Bo Peep gaped at her. Her mama did have a rose-printed kerchief in a drawer at home. “How . .. how do you know that?”

Belle’s blue eyes were wide and unfocused. “I See it . . . like I see you. You’ll have lice,” then she whirled and pointed to George and Felix. “And they’ll have the trots from eating so many stolen apples from Mr. Appleseed’s orchard and have to stay in bed.”

The boys gasped and backed away.

“You’re making that up!” Felix babbled. But he had been thinking, and so had George, of going to the orchard after school today.

“You’re a liar!” George cried.

“No, she’s a Seer,” Rumple corrected coldly. “And she can See true.”

“Witch!” Cora screeched! “You’re a witch, Belle!”

“A nasty little witch that’s gonna grow warts!” Bo Peep added.

“Yeah, where’s your broomstick?” hooted Felix.

“Up your ass!” Rumple growled, seeing Belle’s eyes suddenly fill with tears.

“Watch it, cripple! For I make you eat dirt!” threatened the bigger boy.

Rumple backed off knowing he was no match for the stronger boy.

He went and hugged Belle. “Don’t . . .don’t listen to them!”

“But I’m not a witch!” Belle sniffled. “I’m not old an’ ugly with a broomstick!” her head hurt now and she didn’t know why she had Seen what she had.

“Coward and witch! Coward and witch!” the four children chanted. Then they linked arms and skipped down the street. “Bye bye, Rumple Reject!” called Felix. “And Bonkers Belle!” singsonged Cora. “Just like your crazy papa!”

Belle brushed Rumple off and murmured, “M’not bonkers! And you’re not a coward either!”

Rumple sighed. “But they think I am. Cause my papa is.”

“They’re idiots!” Belle said angrily, then the two children continued on into the schoolyard, as the teacher was now ringing the bell.

Miss Mack, a young woman of about twenty, had her rolled in a rather severe bun and wore a black dress with rows of buttons down it. She had bright brown eyes and a mobile mouth, though she tried to keep her demeanor serious, Belle could tell that she was not a mean person.

Rumple thought she reminded him of Aunt Lauren, who could look hard as nails, but was actually funny and always had time to tell him a story and play with him before bed. Lauren had made him his Peter Pan doll which he had in his pack.

One by one, Miss Mack called them up to see how well they could count and if they knew their alphabet. Because Belle and Rumple could already read simple sentences and Rumple knew how to count up to twenty-five and even add a few numbers in his head, Miss Mack placed him and Belle in the second form for reading and arithmetic.

In the morning she had the younger students, first through third form, since the older ones were busy helping their parents with their chores and so forth and would come later in the afternoon.

George, Cora, Bo, and Felix could barely count to twelve and only knew some of their alphabet.

The three older children, two boys and girl, in third form, Miss Mack gave a review test to, seeing how well they had learned their lessons last year before Miss Gulch had retired.

“Hey, how come crippled Rumple gets to sit there?” George whined when Miss Mack had Rumple and Belle move to the back behind them in the desks for second form.

“George, we do not refer to anyone by derogatory names!” Miss Mack said sternly. “I will not tolerate name calling in my class! Clear?”

“But he’s a—”

Miss Mack frowned. “Yes, Rumplestiltskin has a lame foot, but he was born that way and cannot help it and I will not have a child mocked for an unfortunate accident of birth! Now obey me or you can stand in the corner!”

“Awright!” George muttered, then he thought that he’d get teacher’s pet Rumple back later.

Rumple felt a little bit better after hearing that.

Belle squeezed his hand. “See? She’s not mean.”

“I know.”

Belle rubbed her eyes. “Rumple, my head feels funny. And I don’t know how I knew Bo Peep was gonna have bugs in her hair. But I did. I wasn’t making it up.”

“It’s cause you’re a Seer. Like my Aunt Claude. She can do it too . . .only she uses cards or a bow of water.” He looked at his friend in concern. “Maybe you’d better tell Miss Mack if your head hurts.”

“No. I’ll be okay.” Belle said. She didn’t want Bo Peep and Cora making fun of her for getting headaches like old Missus Brandywine, an old lady who lived down the street from her house.

She wasn’t sure if she liked this new thing she could do . . .Seeing what was going to happen to other people. And now the girls thought she was a witch. _But I’m not a witch! I’m not!_ she thought sadly, then went to write her name ten times on the slate with her chalk.

Rumple bent over his slate, writing his name, and recalling how Aimee had taught him how to do so, by breaking it down into syllables, and writing slowly. It took him a little longer, but soon he had written Rumplestiltskin Spinner on the slate ten times. He knew he should have written FitzMarchand, which was his mother’s maiden name and the “fitz” designated a bastard, but Aimee had declared a long time ago that they had adopted Rumple and so he bore their name, Spinner.

“It’s really Valcourt, dearie, but the villagers have never called us that,” Lauren said one day to him.

Miss Mack was kept busy the rest of the morning schooling the primary class in their A,B,C’s and basic numbers and counting with her tally sticks.

Belle wondered why she didn’t use an abacus like her papa, and asked her when she came around to check their progress.

“I do when I’m not teaching, Belle,” Miss Mack said softly. “But for school, tally sticks are easier to use.” And also less expensive, she thought.

By the time lunch rolled around George and Felix were sick of school and wished they could leave. But since they couldn’t, they determined to take out their bad tempers on Rumple and Belle—“the teachers pets”—as George had dubbed them.

Belle shared her piece of crumb cake with Rumple at their desk and Rumple gave Belle half of his lemon curd tart in return.

“Aww look!” snickered Felix when Miss Mack was out of the room using the outhouse. “The poor bastards are sharing!”

Rumple went red, both at the insinuation that he was poor and Belle was also a bastard. “Least I know HOW to share!” he retorted. “YOU only share cooties!”

“Shut up, you yellowbellied snot!” Felix growled. “Or I’m gonna make you eat dirt!”

“You’re disgusting!” Belle sniffed. “You smell and your hair’s all greasy an’ I bet you never take a bath!”

“Ewww!” shrieked Cora and Bo Peep.

“Shut up, witch girl! ‘Fore I drown you!”

“Yeah, cause that’s how you kill a witch!” retorted Bo, smirking nastily.

“I’m not a witch!” Belle cried, alarmed.

“Children, hush and eat your lunch quietly,” the teacher ordered as se came back into the room. “Then we can go out for recess.”

“Recess! Yay!” all of them cheered.

They all raced outside as soon as lunch was finished.

Rumple and Belle made their way to the castle, intending to hide in it and play with each other, like they did in the little bower Belle’s mama had made for them in her garden over at the Avignon house.

But before Rumple could get there, Felix and George cornered him against the side of the play castle and Felix shoved a wad of dirt in his face. “Eat that, ya coward!”

Rumple nearly threw up.

George brayed. “Serves ya right! That’s what ya get for havin’ a coward for a papa!” Then he grabbed Rumple by the hair. “Now lissen up! If you don’t do what we say when we say . . . we’re gonna borrow Gaston’s tongs and rip out all your fingernails, Rumple!”

“Why? What’d I ever do to you?” Rumple whimpered, spitting out dirt.

“You was born!” Felix snapped.

“An’ your teeth so’s you can only eat corn mush!” continued George.

“You leave Rumple ‘lone!” Belle cried. “Or I’m telling!”

Felix went and shoved Belle up against the castle, banging her head into the wall. “You tell and I’ll shove your face in the rain barrel an’ drown ya, witch! Got me?”

He looked so cruel and menacing that Belle was suddenly scared to death.

“Now . . .both you babies hush and don’t say a word,” growled George. “Or else we’ll do just like we said . . .”

Then he slammed Rumple’s head into the wall, making him yell in pain.

“And we’ll take that stick of yours and beat your head in!” he hissed. “So . . . you gonna talk?”

Rumple shook his head mutely, tears in his eyes. His head hurt something dreadful and he was now terrified of George doing what he said. He knew Gaston would happily give the bigger boy tongs since Gaston hated him ever since the blankie incident long ago.

“N-no. I won’t say a word! Right, Belle?”

“Yes. We’ll be quiet,” she agreed, for she was also terrified. She didn’t want to get drowned and die.

“Better be!” huffed George. “Now, this is how it’s gonna be . . .you give us all your sweets at lunch . . .and do our homework for us so we can play instead of writing all these dumb letters . . .”

“But . . .but then you won’t know how to write your name,” Belle objected.

“So? Don’t need to,” said Felix.

“Whatcha doing, boys?” asked Bo Peep.

“We are telling these pee ons what the law is,” George answered. “And the law is—whatever I say goes!”

“I wanna help!” Be yelled.

“Me too!” Cora said. Then she grabbed Belle’s bow. “Gimme that1 Witches don’t need bows—their hair’s supposed to look messy!”

Belle screamed. “Oww!”

“Stop it! You’re hurting her!” Rumple protested, wishing he could hit them with his stick. But he was too afraid.

“Stop it!” mocked Cora. ‘Whyn’t you cry about it?”

“Baby . . .baby . . .stick your head in gravy . . .” chanted Bo.

“Yeah because you’re so ugly that when you was born . . .the doctor smacked your mother!” Cora jeered.

“Cause who wants a bastard baby?” George brayed.

The others all sneered.

Rumple felt ill.

“He can’t help the way he was born!” Belle put in.

“Yes he could! He coulda died!” Cora returned, a nasty look on her face.

The others laughed, then they scattered as Miss Mack called, “What’s going on there, children?”

Rumple helped Belle fix her hair because Cora still had her bow. “Your hair still looks nice, Belle.”

“No it doesn’t,” she sniffled, and then she wiped his face with her handkerchief. “Why are they so mean to us, Rumple?”

“I don’t know,” he said sadly. He felt tears well in his eyes. “They think I shoulda died!”

“Well, _I_ don’t!” she said stoutly. “I’m glad you’re alive and friends with me.”

Rumple smiled. “I’d better get washed up,” he said and went inside when the teacher was talking with one of the older girls, Lucy. After he washed his face, he felt somewhat better.

He wished he were home however where he was safe from George and Felix and Bo and Cora. If he told his aunts or his mama what those mean kids ahd said, they’d be in such trouble! But then he recalled George promising to rip out his fingernails and drown Belle.

He couldn’t risk ever telling anyone.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and muttered, “Hush little baby, don’t say a word . . .”

Then he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and went outside again, but he was so worried about the bullies that he didn’t even take Peter Pan out of his satchel to play with him like he had intended, instead huddling with Belle on the swings until Miss Mack rang the bell to come inside.

As George went past Rumple and Belle, he made a snipping motion with his hands and Felix grinned nastily. Cora made a gross face at Belle, now wearing her hair bow and Bo mimed someone drowning.

Both smaller children shivered as their tormentors went by.

_Hush little baby, don’t say a word . . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to put this in as a note for this and other chapters in this story and other stories. Recently I got a review from someone complaining that I "misled" them about sex in my stories when I didn't rate it on purpose, because I DO NOT writer explicit (smut) sex scenes in my stories. So if you are expecting that please go and read an MA rated story. All of my stories are rated what they are because I write BLUSH romance, which is sexual INNUENDO and appropriate for teen and adults audiences to read. Therefore, do not leave me a whiny review saying I didn't deliver what I "promised", dearie! Because I NEVER promised an explicit sex scene. You want that go and read 50 shades.


	6. Shadowy Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bullies torment ocntinues, until someone unexpected puts the fear of death into them

The bullies tormenting continued every day, until Belle could hardly stand to wake up in the morning to go to school, for she was always afraid that something mean or humiliating would be done to her before or during recess. Cora was a master at tripping her so it looked like an accident, and she often came home with skinned elbows and knees, leading the other kids to believe she was clumsy and they refused to pick her for games like chase and "run, sheep, run". Bo always managed to spill something on Belle—like ink or paint when they had art lessons, thus reinforcing the perception that she was a fumblefingered child.

It was the same with Rumple, only him they called cripple and made fun of his shyness. Felix always pretended to limp along and George called him "gimp" and made him give them all the nice tarts and pumpkin muffins and cookies Aimee and his aunts baked for him for lunch every day. They also enjoyed rubbing mud on Rumple's clothes and in his hair, and Rumple hated being dirty, and he would grow frantic to wash it off and often make things worse.

Aimee would sigh and scold softly, "You should be more careful, Rumple. You're putting holes in all your clothes . . .though I suppose that's normal for a growing boy."

"Yes, Mama," Rumple muttered, looking at his feet, wanting to cry and tell her everything that George and Felix were doing, but he didn't dare. He didn't want all his fingernails ripped out and he'd seen both boys rip the wings off living butterflies at recess, so he knew they wouldn't care about ripping off his fingernails . . or Belle's either.

He would have liked school except the continuing tormenting was making him sick to his stomach and he could hardly eat breakfast the morning he had to go to school. Concerned, Aimee had Lauren make him up a tonic and it tasted so gross Rumple nearly threw up. The next day he made sure to hide the uneaten food on his plate in his napkin and then throw it into the bushes when he left the cottage to walk to the schoolhouse.

After a week of this treatment, Rumple began to wonder if he'd spend the rest of his schooldays a mass of quivering nerves . . .a coward like his papa.

Belle too was starting at shadows and as they walked to school again, she jumped when the wind blew some leaves across their path. "Sorry, Rumple," she muttered. "I just . . thought I heard them coming."

"I know," he said, looking around warily. "But they make a lot more noise."

"Like hungry monsters," Belle said fearfully. She gripped Rumple's hand because it gave her courage.

"Why didn't your Vision come true yet?" Rumple muttered.

"I . . dunno," Belle said quietly. "Maybe . . .it wasn't real."

"Maybe it takes time," Rumple whispered back comfortingly.

She nodded. If that was the case, she wished it would hurry up.

They had nearly reached the bend in the path to the schoolhouse when George ran up behind Rumple and shoved him to the ground. "Trip much, gimpy?" he laughed harshly.

Rumple yelped as he hit the ground, skinning his knees and his stick went flying.

"Aww! Did the wimy gimp fall down?" drawled Felix, his handsome face curled in a sneer.

"Wimpy Gimpy Rumpy!" chanted Cora and Bo nastily.

"Now give us your sweets . . .before we shove that stick up your ass!" Felix growled.

"I . . .I . . ." Rumple fumbled in his satchel for the bag of muffins Aimee had given him, hoping it wasn't crushed in the fall.

"Hurry up!" ordered George, and kicked Rumple in the ribs.

"Why don't you just leave us alone?" Belle cried. "We didn't do anything to you!"

"Yeah you did!" Cora smirked. "You exist!"

"So do you!" Belle returned spiritedly. "An' what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means—witch freak—that you oughta been drowned at birth like unwanted kittens!" Bo shouted, and yanked Belle's ponytail.

Belle hollered and tried to pull away, but Bo was stronger and she knocked Belle onto the ground. "Gimme your lunch . . .and whatever else you brought today, freak!"

Belle's eyes were filled with tears. "I hope your hair falls out!" she cried, and went to get her lunch sack.

The four bullies were laughing as they took their victims dessert and Felix spit in Rumple's butter and jam sandwich before he threw it at the other boy, saying, "Nice lunch your mama packed, ain't it? Oh, I forgot, you ain't got a mama, 'cause you're a bastard whose mama croaked after she looked at you!"

"That's not true! My mama was sick, that's why she died!" Rumple cried, tears stinging his eyes at the cruel implication. Aunt Lauren had said so . .. and she never lied to him. "My aunt said so!"

"Then she lies, gimp!" Felix sneered and they turned to run off.

When out of the shadows of the woods beside the path came a loud menacing growl.

George froze. "Uh . . what was . . . _that_?"

"I dunno . .. sounded like . . a wild animal!" shivered Felix, still clutching Rumple's muffins.

The growl was repeated, louder this time.

"I think it's coming after us!" wailed Cora, clutching her satchel and Belle's hair ribbon that she'd ripped from her hair.

Two green eyes suddenly appeared in the brush and the sharp deadly snarl drifted out of the shadows.

Suddenly a soft voice spoke, singing almost, yet it's tone was deadly cold and dreadfully scary.

"Stupid children, where are you going?

What are you doing, this fine summer's day?

Wicked children, why do you torment one of your own,

Can you not find another game to play?"

"Ahhh!" screamed Bo Peep. "It's a monster!"

"A monster indeed . . .one that takes wicked children

And skins them and hangs them upon the door.

To make a fine coat to wear in the winter,

Oh such a fine thing, to keep out the snow!"

The children, including Belle and Rumple, were now paralyzed with dread.

"P-Please . . don't hurt us!" bawled George.

"Hurt you? Why not?" asked the voice, sounding like a rather curious child. "You have hurt others, why shouldn't I take you and skin you alive?"

"Noo!" wailed Felix. "We didn't!"

The voice made a tisking noise. "Now, now, don't you lie. Liars get their tongues ripped out before they're skinned, don't you see? So tell the truth, don't lie to me!"

Cora began sniveling. "Okay! We . . . we were mean to the freak and her little gimp friend!"

"Yeah but who cares?" added George.

"Me!" giggled the monster and something swirled in the shadows of the trees and the green eyes glittered and the snarl became more pronounced.

"G-George, shut up! Before it . . . _eats_ us!" Felix whined.

"I want my mama!" Bo burst into tears.

Belle squeezed Rumple's hand and whispered, "Maybe it's a good monster."

Rumple was too scared to say anything and just nodded.

"Naughty girl, now you cry? Before you didn't give a fig! Stick a finger in your eye!" the shadow went on. "Do you think that I don't know . . .what you did . . .now you shall reap what you sow . . ."

"No! Please! We'll give you anything!" wailed George, now terrified to the marrow of his bones. "Just don't skin me!"

The shadow snorted. "Not so brave, are you now, when something stronger has got you down? Little brat, promise me . . .never to touch these two again . . .then we'll see . . .I might not come and skin you . . ."

The four started yammering and bleating like young shoats in front of the slaughterhouse, pleading for mercy. They shoved their ill-gotten gains back at their victims desperately.

"Oh, mercy, mercy, mercy me!" singsonged the voice, still with icy cold disdain. "If ever I see you four again attack these two just because you can . . . look out your windows and look out your doors, for the shadows that gather and creep on all fours, as dusk falls so shall you, if you break your word to me . . .skinned shall you be and hung upon the door . . so all may know what happens to . . . _wicked little children!_ "

On that last pronouncement, the voice scaled into a high-pitched vicious giggle, accompanied by a low howl.

George, Cora, Felix, and Bo ran screeching away, running home to hide in their closets and under the bed from the evil shadow monster.

Belle went to help Rumple up, going to fetch his walking stick, which was lying in the middle of the path, when the eyes suddenly resolved themselves into a large wolf-like animal, black as a moonless night, who came and sat down before them.

The little girl froze. "You . . . _you're_ the . . shadow monster?" she gulped, her hand wrapped around Rumple's stick.

"No, that would be me," answered the voice and the shadows swirled and rippled and flickered into a medium-sized man dressed all in gray, boots, pants, tunic, and an odd shimmering shadowy cloak. He looked to be around thirty or so, with slightly curling hair of a nearly black hue and a face of high cheekbones and sharp edges.

He was slightly smaller than average, lithe like a hunting cat, with the same restless energy, and his skin was pale as parchment. His only truly arresting feature were his eyes, they were a deep purple hue, like dusk transplanted into human form. He came and laid a hand upon the wolf-like creature, whose head came up to his chest.

"This is Nyx, you would call her a hybrid, she is part dog and part dread wolf. She won't harm you . . . unless you threaten me." The stranger chuckled.

He picked up the stick and came towards Rumple. "Come up from there, lad." He handed the stick to Rumple with his right hand.

Rumple scrambled to his feet, staring up at the man in awe. "You . . .saved us. You're not a monster, like they thought."

One side of the man's mouth quirked in amusement. "The shadows hide many things, lad. Friend and foe sometimes. I am just a man now . . though once . . once I was a bit more. Be that as it may, I was glad to help."

"Why?" Rumple asked suspiciously.

"Because I have been where you are now, long and long ago," the other replied easily. "And I have never tolerated bullies. In any shape or form."

Belle looked him up and down. "I don't remember you. Have you always been here?"

"No. I am recently arrived. I have retired from my previous line of work and come here to get some peace and quiet. I live in the cottage with the smoky purple trim near the schoolhouse. I was out for a little walk when I heard those wicked bullies tormenting you."

"Thanks for your help, sir," said Belle politely. "Umm . . what's your name?"

The man paused before he answered, almost as if he was unsure of his answer. Then he said quietly, "The name my mother gave me is Bey. Bey Starfall. But you can call me Bey."

"I'm Belle. Belle Avignon." She held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"And I'm Rumplestiltskin Spinner," Rumple said cautiously. "But you can just call me Rumple."

He shook both children's hands. "Well met."

"Would you really have skinned them?" Rumple blurted.

Bey chuckled, low and deep. "'Tis what they think . . . and sometimes, lad, a little misinformation can save you a great deal of pain and heartache."

They began to walk with their shadowy protector down the path to the schoolhouse.

"I just don't know why they're always picking on us," Belle said mournfully. "I can't help if I was born with the Sight."

"And I can't help my leg," Rumple said.

Bey paused, then said, "Children can be intolerant vicious brats. And it's easy for them to look at you and see someone different and label you as someone that's beneath them. It's a trait that breeds with ignorance and continues because people don't stamp it out when they can."

They had almost reached the schoolhouse and Miss Mack was about to ring the bell, when Bey said, "Now go, you two and don't worry about those other four."

"But . .. what if they decided to get someone else to hurt us?" Rumple whimpered, still thinking of Gaston and his tongs.

"Hmm . . .you're right. Tell you what. Come over to my house for tea, you two, and we'll talk about me helping you to defend yourself against those who will hurt you."

"Really? When?" asked Belle excitedly.

"After school."

The bell began ringing.

Bey stood back and watched as Rumple and Belle trotted into the schoolyard, then he swirled his cloak about him and vanished from view.

Seconds later, he and Nyx were trotting through the trees back to their new home.

As he put the kettle on for tea, figuring a cup would be just right to soothe the ache in his left arm, he looked down at the wolf-dog beside his chair. "Well, Nyx, now I know I've truly retired. I haven't gone by Bey since I was ten years old and learned how to walk in shadow and silence."

Nyx wagged her tail, understanding.

The man now known as Bey rubbed his left arm, partially paralyzed as a result of being poisoned over a year ago. It was that as much as the death of his former monarch and the succession of a new one that had led to his decision to leave the life he had once led and cross two kingdoms to come here, to this hamlet within the Enchanted Forest. His long lean fingers traced the tattoo he bore on his left wrist, hidden by his sleeve.

It was of a dagger, curled around his wrist. The symbol of his old order. _I shall be a dagger pointed at the heart of your enemies, for as long as you shall live._ His mind spun back to the pledge he had made over twenty years ago to a young king. That king was now in his grave, dead of a sudden lung ailment, though some said his heart had followed his wife years before when she had died bearing him a son and heir. But his monarch's death had freed Bey from his obligation at last.

His opposite hand circled his wrist and the violet eyes darkened. The dagger was the symbol of what he had been, and his last name was an indication of his being born a royal bastard. Where he had come from, such a status was not scorned, rather the legitimate blood royals used their illegitimate kin, making them bound to the throne by teaching them a trade—the art of silence and shadow, the way of the dagger, making them into assassins who protected their monarch and thus were never able to revolt against him. Five Daggers had been in service when Bey had left . . . five royal bastards like him, cousins and half-siblings, for the Highstar line had always been prolific lovers. They would have to choose a new one to take his place.

Only he had been the best of them all. The legend from whom all Daggers were told to aspire to, his name whispered in fear into the dark, to scare little boys and girls into good behavior, and miscreants into thinking twice about attacking his monarch. A grim smile twisted his lips as the kettle began to whistle.

As he poured the boiling water over the tea leaves he reflected that at least no one from his past would ever think of searching for him here, for who would suspect the notorious mage assassin once known as the Dark One to be here in Hearthstone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what did you think of Bey and Nyx?


	7. It's A Kind of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Belle learn more about their mysterious benefactor and a new kind of magic as well.

 

**7**

**It’s A Kind of Magic**

Belle and Rumple were so excited about meeting Bey again at his house that they could barely sit still and concentrate on their schoolwork. Miss Mack scolded Rumple for doodling on his slate instead of doing his addition, and she had to call Belle twice to answer a history question because she was mooning and staring out the window—in the direction of the shadowy protector’s house.

Both children were glad when recess came, and wonder of wonders, they were left alone for once by their tormentors. The two went and played in the small castle, and Bo, Cora, Felix, and George huddled at the other end of the playground, whispering fearfully.

Belle smiled at Rumple as they sat in the castle, with Belle showing Rumple the new book Maurice had bought for her, about a clever girl who went on adventures with her magic horse, who could run on water and air. “I’m glad Bey put the fear of the gods of night into those nasty bullies! Now we can read our book in peace!”

Rumple nodded, a shy smile lighting his small face. “Yeah, and we can play with Peter Pan and Bambi without worryin’ they’re gonna be stolen and broken.” He removed his little cornhusk doll and his carved wooden deer that Aimee had made him from a small rowan knot and he handed the eer to Belle. “Once upon a time, Peter and Bambi were walkin’ through the forest . . .”

“ . . .an’ they ran into the big nasty hunter Gaston . . .who shot everything that moved and poached on the king’s land . . .” Belle continued. She detested Gaston and never cared that he was the villain in all their made up stories. He was a villain in real life anyhow.

After they had finished school, Rumple and Belle found Nyx waiting for them upon the path, and they followed the huge wolf-dog back to Bey’s cottage, which was, as he had said, quite close to the schoolhouse, though set back some from the main road.

Bey’s cottage was like most in the village, with a thatched roof and whitewashed walls, though his had ivy clinging to the walls and a purple door and shutters. A large maple tree overlooked the yard and a fence with some odd markings burned into the posts surrounded his house, but the gate was opened in welcome.

Nyx trotted up the walk and scratched at the door of the cottage.

Rumple and Belle followed, and Belle noticed more of the odd carvings around the door. “I wonder what those are?”

Rumple shrugged. “Dunno. They look like symbols of some sort.”

Before they could ponder any more, the door was opened by Bey himself, and he smiled at the two children and said, “Welcome to my humble home. Come in and have some tea.”

Rumple and Belle went eagerly into the cottage, following Nyx and Bey.

The cottage was composed of four rooms, a large room of a combination of a kitchen and hearthroom, Bey’s bedroom, a small bathroom, and an extra room that Bey used as a workroom and library. Neither child knew it, but Bey was also a sorcerer in his realm, though his magic was different from the kind that they were familiar with. Besides being an assassin, Bey had been taught the magic of wards, glyphs, and potions.

“Sit down,” Bey invited them, and gestured to the table, where he had set out his tea service and a plate with some buttery raisin scones. The tea service was one the queen had given him before he left the realm to fade into anonymity. It was a beautiful white porcelain service with the blue willow symbol for health, prosperity, and long life on it. It was also gilded as befit a royal tea service, on the rims of the cups and pot and the handles and the plates.

“Ooh, what a lovely tea set!” Belle exclaimed upon seeing it.

“Why thank you!” Bey laughed, amused and touched by her enthusiasm. “It was a gift from an old friend before I retired and came here.”

Rumple thought the tea set was fine also, and then he asked, “Were you a soldier?”

“Umm . . .in a manner of speaking,” Bey hedged, not wanting to reveal what he had really been to the impressionable children. “I was my king’s bodyguard for many many years.” Which was true, in a sense. He had been ordered many times to guard his monarch, who was also his father, and protect him from his enemies.

“That where you learned how to defend yourself?” was Rumple’s next question.

“Yes,” Bey answered honestly. “As a boy, I was bullied much like you . . .but after months of training, I became able to send those who hurt me fleeing from me like a bunch of yellow-bellied curs with their tails between their legs.”

His instruction by the former Dark One had enabled him to show those who had tormented him the error of their ways, when he broke one boy’s thumb who attacked him, and kicked the other’s balls into his throat.

He eyed Rumple, thinking the boy reminded him a great deal of himself as a child—quiet, alert, and curious.

Belle reminded him of his half-sister, Princess Islena, who was also courageous, smart, and curious.

“But how can you teach me?” Rumple asked, puzzled. “With my lame foot and all?”

Bey’s eyes twinkled. “Well, even a lame foot can be turned into an asset if you know how.”

“Will you teach me too?” Belle begged.

“Yes, if you wish,” Bey replied.

“Do . .. do girls fight too where you’re from?”

“Yes. A lot of women do,” he answered, for it was true. The queen’s bodyguards were all women and several of his girl cousins were Daggers.

“Not here,” Belle murmured. “It’s only boys who go off to war an’ have adventures. The girls stay home an’ get married or sometimes they go to university.”

“Like my mama and aunts,” Rumple clarified. “They ain’t married ‘cause their beaus left ‘em after their papa lost all his money. But my mama says that was all right, ‘cause if they couldn’t stay the course they weren’t worth anything.”

Bey was horrified. “Your mother’s beau got her in the family way and left her?”

“Yeah. My papa’s a no good scoundrel,” Rumple reported. “He tried once t’take me away, but Mama beat his backside with her paddle and he got ‘scripted into the duke’s army, but he ran off from that too and is a deserting coward now. And that’s why Felix an’ George beat me up so much. They say I’m a coward like he is—but I’m not!” They boy’s eyes glistened with angry tears.

“Of course you’re not,” Bey said soothingly. _Dearest gods, another bastard like me. And that would have been me, if my royal father hadn’t acknowledged me and taken me to live up at the palace and had me trained as the Dark One._ A wash of sympathy flowed over the old assassin. “I knew you weren’t a coward, Rumple, when I saw you stay and not run off when those bullies assaulted you.”

“I’ve always known that,” Belle said stoutly. “Only idiots like those four think so. Cora and Bo don’t like me either, cause my papa Maurice is an inventor and smarter than their papas and my mama used to be a fine lady once and she’s smarter and nicer than their mamas.”

“Cora’s mama goes round with her nose in the air like a goose!” Rumple sneered. “And Bo’s mama has this pinched look on her face like somethin’ smells bad.” He imitated Bo’s mother, Anna, and sniffed and scrunched up his face like he smelled something disgusting.

Belle and Bey started laughing.

 _The boy’s a natural mimic, like me,_ Bey thought. It was funny, but Rumple reminded him so much of himself, he could have been his son. Though Bey knew that was impossible. None of the Daggers could sire children due to a spell put upon them by the previous Dark One, that made them infertile. But perhaps, now that his oaths were dead along with his king, that had also faded? He mused. As the Dark One his job had been to guard his monarch and to eliminate any and all threats to his well being and the royal family. Like a good guard dog, he thought sarcastically. And one didn’t need distractions in his line of work.

But now he was no longer obligated to be the dagger in the dark, he reminded himself, and he smiled at the two children, and said, “The two of you are worth three of all those other brats. And I can teach you some maneuvers I learned when I was somewhat older than you that will make them keep their distance. It doesn’t matter about your foot, Rumple. One of the best . .. err . . .warriors I ever knew was a blind man.”

Bey wasn’t lying. Graham Hunter had been blind from birth but he hadn’t let that stop him. He was one of the best shadow fighters in the realms, his senses honed to a preternatural sharpness and unless you looked, you’d never even know he was blind. He had been Bey’s first tutor in the art of silence and shadow.

“Really?” Rumple looked hopeful.

“Yes,” Bey assured him. “Right, Nyx?”

The wolf-dog whuffed an agreement, her green eyes shining.

“Does she understand what you say?” asked Belle.

“She does, lass. Nyx is very intelligent.” He caressed the wolf-dog’s head. “Dread wolves are uncannily smart in my land, and she’s inherited their intelligence and cunning and strength.”

Belle reached down to pet her and Nyx licked her hand.

Then Rumple recalled another question. “Bey, what’s those funny markings on your door?”

“Those? They’re . . ahh . . .” he hesitated, not sure whether to reveal his magic to them. Then he shrugged and remembered intrigue was no longer a part of his life and it was just a question. “ . . .they’re a kind of ward magic, Rumple. Do you know what a glyph is?”

He shook his head.

“Well, in my land, a glyph is a symbol that when drawn properly, gives someone or something magical properties for a time,” Bey explained. “We have a whole other alphabet of runes, called glyphs, and if you know the right combinations and have the will and the focus, you can use magic.”

He illustrated by drawing the glyph for animate an object in the air. It was a half circle with an oddly shaped backwards R and it left smoky purple trails in the air.

“Oooh!” the two gasped.

Then it vanished as the tea pot animated itself and poured tea into all their cups again.

“See? That was the glyph for animating an object there,” Bey explained. “If you know the right combination you can cast many spells.”

“So you’re a sorcerer _and_ a warrior?” Rumple asked, awed. His brown eyes were huge in his little face.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” the Dark One coughed, tracing the dagger tattoo beneath his sleeve.

“Brilliant!” Belle exclaimed. “Rumple’s aunts and mama are enchantresses.”

“Yeah, but they can’t do that sort of magic,” Rumple said. “But Aunt Claude’s got the Sight, like Belle, an’ my mama and Aunt Lauren are good with herbs n’ kitchen witchery and enchanting objects.”

The little boy had a funny feeling that Bey was probably a more powerful sorcerer than they knew here in Hearthstone.

“All magic is useful,” Bey said quietly. “Whether a glyph or another kind. And all magic comes with a price as well. Though usually the price is the caster’s to pay.” His mouth quirked as he found himself quoting his former mistress in the magical arts—the Dragon.

She had been a glyphmistress before she had passed on, and he had been her best student, and the glyphmaster after her. Now that he was gone, he wondered which of his students had taken his place. Most likely it had been either Regina or Aurora, he considered, as both of them had major talent in that area.

“Can anyone learn this glyph magic?” Belle asked.

“You two are full of questions, aren’t you?” Bey chuckled.

“M’sorry,” Belle apologized. “Papa always says I ask questions and chatter like a magpie.”

“I don’t mind. That’s how you learn,” the former assassin said softly. “And yes, anyone with the will, focus, and aptitude for magic can learn how to use the glyphs. But it does take time, because you need to learn an entire alphabet of symbols and how they work.”

“Like months?” Rumple wanted to know.

“Years, lad,” Bey corrected. “It took me years to master the glyphs and become what I am with them—a glyphmaster.”

“Could you . . .maybe teach us . . .?” Belle pleaded.

“I can, but you have to promise me something first,” he stressed. “Never use what I show you unless it’s absolutely necessary. And try to never use the glyphs unless I am with you. Magic’s price can be deadly to an apprentice, and a half-trained glyph worker deadliest of all, both to yourself and others.”

“Why?” Belle queried.

“Because, little maid, a half-trained magic worker always assumes he or she knows more than they actually do . . . and can end up harming people unintentionally.” He glanced at the clock on the wall and wondered if he had time for a quick cautionary tale.

But Nyx barked urgently, and Bey said, “Perhaps when you visit tomorrow afternoon, I can tell you the tale of a boy name Nicholas and the Firebird, but Nyx reminds me you ought to be getting home, your parents will be missing you. Come, let me walk with you.”

He rose and followed the children and Nyx from the cottage.

They stopped off at Belle’s house first, where they found Maurice pacing the front yard and glancing at his pocket watch. “Belle! What happened? Did you have to stay after school?”

“No, Papa. I’m sorry I was late but I was having tea with Master Starfall here,” Belle ran up and hugged him.

Maurice looked up to see an unfamiliar man dressed all in gray with a huge black wolf and Rumple beside him. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed.

“Forgive me, Master Avignon, for making you worry,” Bey began. “My name is Bey Starfall, and I’ve just retired here from the kingdom of Avaria far to the west by the Sea of Fallen Stars.”

It was how the monarchs of his kingdom got their name—Highstar, for they were the highest in the land.

“Papa, he was a bodyguard and he knows magic too!” Belle told Maurice excitedly.

“An’ he’s gonna teach me how to protect myself so’s nobody beats me up anymore,” Rumple interjected.

“Is that so?” Maurice looked interested. Then he blinked and said, “Some boys were giving you a hard time, Rumple? Your mama and aunts won’t like that.”

“I was my king’s bodyguard until his death,” Bey said softly. “Then I retired and came here. I happened to be walking with my wolf-dog Nyx when I came upon Rumple and Belle being bullied by four other children . . .and I put a stop to it.” The man’s eyes flashed angrily.

“Yeah, he scared them so bad they almost wet themselves!” Rumple crowed.

“Good for you! I probably know who some of them are . . .and they get their nasty ways from their parents, who are not nice people themselves.” Maurice said. “Thank you for bringing my daughter home, Master Fallstar.”

“It was no trouble, and please, call me Bey,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind, I can teach Belle as well as Rumple, for in my land, a girl is taught much the same as a boy.”

“Even the magic you mentioned?”

“Well, I’m not a Seer, but I do know a certain kind of magic,” Bey explained. “And I would teach them both, but nothing truly dangerous, and I do have certain conditions for all my apprentices.” He detailed them for Maurice.

“I . . well . . . I’ll need to think about it. Talk to my wife,” Maurice said.

“Please, Papa!”

“Belle, we’ll see what your mother thinks,” Maurice demurred.

“There’s no rush,” Bey said, not wanting them to forbid Belle to learn magic. “Take your time and think about it.”

“I shall and thank you again,” Maurice said.

“Bye, Rumple! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Bye, Belle!” Rumple waved at her cheerily, and then he limped on down the road with Bey and Nyx.

Bey noted how the boy moved with his stick, despite his infirmity. “Rumple, were you born like that . . .or did you have an accident that caused your foot to become lame?”

“Nope, I was born with my foot all twisted an’ smaller than my other one,” the boy answered.

“Have you ever tried . . .umm . . .a corrective brace or something?”

“Once, when I was little, but Mama said it was doin’ more harm than good an’ it hurt me to even walk, so she took it off and threw it away.”

“How about a shoe with certain . . .ah . . . type of sole built into it?” he suggested.

“No . . . our shoemaker doesn’t make that sort of thing,” Rumple told him, resting a hand on Nyx’s ruff.

“Hmm . . .” Bey thought, recalling the Highstar castle’s shoemaker, a bright-cheeked elf named Silk, who could make any kind of footwear and made shoes for the court ladies, the royal family, even the knights needed special war boots and the foot soldiers marching shoes with hobnailed soles. He was sure that if given the proper measurements, Silk would be able to design a shoe for Rumple which might help him walk easier.

 _You’d be paying a pretty penny for that, Starfall. Silk doesn’t come cheap,_ he reminded himself. _All this for a boy you just met?_

He irritably told the cynical voice in his head to hush. _And what else have I got to spend my money on?_ As the Dark One he has sometimes accepted commissions from other nobles if he thought their cause worthy, though he charged highly for his services, after all one did not command the best assassin in the realms for nothing. And he always got his mark . . .no matter how long it took. There was a saying in Avaria— _when the Dark One marks you for death, you may as well start sewing your funeral shroud, because death will come for you as sure as night falls._

He had built his reputation upon that legend, as well as the one that declared _The Dark One and Death are brothers, and Death’s hand touches him not._

Of course that was a bit of a fallacy, for even the Dark One was not immortal, though they did live a very long time and when one was killed or too old to perform his or her duties, they retired and passed the mantle on to their successor. Bey rubbed his arm absently as Rumple led him up the walk to his home.

The little boy threw open the door and cried, “Mama, I’m home!”

“There you are, Rumple!” said Aimee, coming out of the kitchen wearing an apron dusted with flour, a smudge of flour on her nose, her curly hair straggling loose from its bun. “Were you over at Belle’s having a snack?”

“No, I was over at Bey’s . . .err . . .this is Bey Starfall, Mama,” her son replied, and gestured to the man standing like a shadow behind him.

Aimee flushed as she realized they had a visitor . . .and a male one at that. “Oh! Rumple, you could have warned me! I look a fright!” She dusted her hands upon her apron. “I’m so sorry, I was baking cinnamon raisin bread and potato pancakes. I’m Aimee Spinner, my sisters and I run the shop next door.”

Bey bowed and then gestured, and a purple rose appeared in his hand. “The pleasure is all mine, milady.”

Aimee’s eyes widened. “Thank you kindly, sir,” she took the rose and floated it into a small terracotta pitcher on the kitchen table. “You’re new to Hearthstone, aren’t you?”

“I am. I’ve just moved here, into the house with the purple trim next to the school.” He didn’t know what had possessed him to conjure a purple majestic rose like that, except something of his lessons in court etiquette must have still affected him.

“That’s old Esmerelda’s place. She was a Gypsy fortune teller. But she caught a bad lung fever a while back and passed away in her sleep.” Aimee said, eyeing the stranger up and down.

There was something about the lean man in gray that drew her eye, something undefinable as mist off the moor, mysterious and wild, she sensed there was something more than what he appeared, there was a wild animal grace about him, and an air of danger as well.

Then she caught sight of Nyx and murmured, “Is she your familiar, Master Starfall?”

Bey’s violet eyes met her bright hazel ones and he found himself quite unable to look away. If he didn’t know better he’d have said she was trying to bewitch him, but he knew his dagger tattoo protected him from such enchantments. “Nyx is my good friend. We’ve been together a long time, Missus Spinner.”

“Part dread wolf, aye?” asked Aimee shrewdly. She had read of the magical wolves in one of her volumes of magical creatures.

“She is,” Bey nodded. He wanted to wipe the smudge of flour off her nose, and nearly reached out with his hand to do so before he reminded himself sharply that a man did not touch a lady without her permission. His bad arm twinged and he absently went to rub it. He explained about helping Rumple and Belle from bullies, and Aimee frowned and said, “Rumple, why didn’t you tell me about them? And why aren’t you wearing your bracelet?”

“Umm . . .I forgot to put it on,” he said softly, but the truth was he’d been made fun of by Felix for wearing jewelry “like girl” and so he’d left the bracelet at home on his washstand.

“Dearie, you shouldn’t ever go without it,” Aimee said quietly, and she summoned it and handed it to him. “It protects you from your wastrel papa, among other things.”

Rumple put it on. “’Kay, Mama.”

Bey eyed the bracelet, sensing some kind of protective charm on it. “Your son told me that your . . .beau left you,” he said awkwardly. “Such a man ought to be horsewhipped for treating you that way.”

“Aye, Malcolm could have used such,” Aimee chuckled, then she realized what Bey was implying and cried, “Why, dearie, surely you don’t think . . . Malcolm was _my_ beau!”

“Err . . .the lad’s your son, right?” Bey found himself flushing.

“Yes, but . . . oh goodness, you mean Rumple never told you he’s adopted?” Aimee said. “He’s my son, but I never bore him. That was Juliette Marchand, the poor thing! Malcolm tricked her and got her in the family way, and she died soon after she had Rumple. He was a foundling I and my sisters took in because her father had disowned her and her child. We adopted him soon afterwards.”

“Oh! So then he . . .never . . .” Bey coughed awkwardly. “Forgive me, Mistress, I merely thought . . .” _You’ve really put your foot in it this time, haven’t you? Just like some idiot sixteen year old repeating rumors!_ He hadn’t felt like such a dunce since he really was sixteen. “I didn’t mean to imply that you . . .ah . . . were . . .umm . . .” he stammered like a fool.

 _Now you sound like a blithering idiot! You, the most powerful mage assassin in the realms!_ The cynical part of him scolded witheringly.

But Aimee just gave him a considerate smile. “You couldn’t have known, Master Starfall. Rumple’s become used to everyone knowing about him, so he wouldn’t have thought to tell you otherwise. And as far as we’re concerned, Rumple is _our_ son, no matter who bore him.”

Her words made the master assassin smile. “Then he’s lucky to have you, Mistress. Others . . .would not be so kind.” He rubbed his arm again.

Aimee, who herself had been rather flustered at first, found herself following the stranger’s movements, and she noticed his arm hanging awkwardly by his side. “Your arm, Master Starfall, have you hurt it?”

“This? It’s an old injury, mistress. Several months old.”

“May I?” Aimee asked. “I know something of wounds.” Before he could refuse, she took his left arm and gently felt it. Her slender fingers found an odd little knot on his bicep. “You . . .were stabbed, weren’t you,” she said knowingly.

“I was. By a poisoned blade,” he agreed. “The poison . . . was not one I was able to counter effectively, and it partially paralyzed my arm. The healers said I would never regain the full use of it, and so I had to retire.”

“You mean . . . you’re like me?” Rumple asked, amazement coloring his tone.

“Lame? I am, youngling,” Bey said.

“But perhaps I can help you a bit,” Aimee said. “I have a salve here that when rubbed on can ease those cramps you have in the muscles that still feel something.” She went into the stillroom and fetched a small brown pot.

“Here, Master Starfall,” as she handed him the pot, their fingers met and a spark jumped from one to the other.

Bey nearly dropped the pot, but at the last minute he clung to it hard. “How much do I owe you?”

Aimme bit her lip, wanting to say her help was free, but she sensed the man might be insulted.

Before she could say anything, Rumple spoke up. “Mama, I already made a deal with him.”

“What kind of deal, son?” she asked.

“Master Starfall—he said I can call him Bey—said he can teach me how to defend myself from those meanies and . . .and he can teach me magic too, the kind he does, with glyphs.”

“You did?” Aimee demanded.

“I thought it couldn’t hurt if I gave the boy a few lessons,” Bey objected. “I know what it’s like to be bullied, and even though he’s lame it doesn’t mean he can’t be taught to fight back. I know several ways in which he can make even his lame leg more of an asset than a liability.”

“And what kind of magic do you know?” she asked softly, her eyes narrowed. There was no taint of darkness on him . . .and yet . . .her sense were warning her that here was a dangerous man.

“I’m a glyphmaster,” he answered, and traced a ward symbol in the air. It glowed with his signature purple aura.

“That’s a protective ward,” Aimee said, recognizing some of the components from her studies.

“You know the glyphs then?”

“I know _of_ them. I’ve studied some of the runic magic of the Northern lands,” Aimee told him.

“Their magical symbology is not quite the same,” Bey said. “Ours is much more complex. More symbols, more ways of combining them and more power can be conjured.”

Aimee nodded. She had heard that the glyphmasters of Avaria were among the most powerful sorcerers in the realms. Certainly more powerful than mere charms enchantress like herself.

Rumple tugged on her apron. “Mama, may I learn magic from Bey?”

Aimee looked down at her son, whose chocolate brown eyes looked up at her with such innocent hope. Her heart promptly melted and she couldn’t bear to say no. “All right. You may learn— _if_ you agree to follow Master Starfall’s rules, Rumplestiltskin. He is your master, and you must obey him like you do me.”

“Deal, Mama!” He shook her hand to seal the contract.

Aimee ruffled his floofy hair. “And you know that—”

“—no one breaks deals with you, dearie,” he recited.

Bey smirked. “You’ve taught the boy well.” Then he slanted an eyebrow and said, “How about we strike a deal of our own, Mistress Spinner? In exchange for this salve whenever I need it, I’ll agree to train Rumple in the ways of self-defense and some of my own glyph mastery. Do we have a deal?”

She held out a hand. “We do, Master Starfall.” She shook his hand firmly. Then she held out a piece of parchment with the terms of the contract written out. She summoned a quill from her desk and signed her name to the bottom. Then she handed the quill to Bey.

As he signed his name with a flourish, his wayward mind insisted on admiring how her hair fell fetchingly over her forehead. He shook his head irritably, cursing himself for a fool. No decent woman would want him, tainted as he was by his dark profession, a lame arm, and his cynical bent. Plus he was nothing special to look at. His legitimate half-brothers had gotten all the looks in the family.

 _Did she know what you were, she’d not give you the time of day!_ His conscience reproved. He handed the quill back to her. “Is two hours after school sufficient?” he asked softly. “He can come home and do his school work first before he has lessons with me.”

“That would be fine,” Aimee said, and she gave him a sweet smile. “You are most kind, Master Starfall.”

“Me? No . . .it’s just that I cannot stand bullies, nor see talent go to waste,” he answered with a shrug of one shoulder. _You’re going soft already, you fool!_ “I’ll see you promptly at . . .three-thirty, Rumple. And you can tell Belle also.” He hefted the container of salve and then said, “I . . .must be going now. Thank you for this.”

“You’re very welcome, dearie,” she responded, wishing her heart didn’t speed up whenever she looked at his slender high-cheekboned face. He was not the kind of handsome prince most girls dreamed of, being small and dark rather than fair and blond, yet she found there was something irresistible about him.

She gazed after him as he strode out of the cottage, then she shook her head. She was such a woolhead! Mooning after a man she had barely met, who wouldn’t ever be interested in a single woman—an old maid spinster with a son, who made simples and charms, and spun and baked for a living. He would find her the most boring woman in the realms, compared to the sophisticated women he must have known back in Avaria.

She turned to her son. “Rumple, you can have some cinnamon raisin bread before you start your schoolwork.”

Rumple cheered then limped into the kitchen to get some with butter, saying, “Mama, isn’t Bey nice?”

“Yes,” she replied absently thinking how ironic that she was interested in a man whose name was a spice. _You’re hopeless, Aimee Spinner! Just hopeless!_

As Rumple buttered a slice of warm bread, inhaling the odor of cinnamon like ambrosia into his nostrils, he hoped that Elena would let Belle come and learn along with him. _Please, please,_ he prayed to the good gods and spirits. He also wondered when Belle’s Visions about Bo and the boys were going to come true. He didn’t doubt for an instant that they would, it was only a matter of when. Like his Aunt Claudette said, the Sight worked in its own good time, and only when it was time would Visions come to pass.


	8. Rumple's Reindeer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays and hope you enjoy this chapter featuring Bey and small Rumple and belle rescuing a magical reindeer!

Over dinner that night, which was a roasted chicken with potatoes and green beans, Maurice spoke with Elena about Bey's offer. At first Elena was skeptical, since she didn't even know this man, and trusting strange men with her precious daughter was not in her nature. But Belle reassured her that Bey had defended her from bullies, and also said he was going to speak with the Spinners about tutoring Rumple as well.

When she heard that, Elena decided to wait and speak with Aimee about it, see what her impressions were first before making a decision. "We'll see, Belle. I need to speak with Miss Aimee first."

Belle was a bit impatient, but realized nothing would be gained by her sulking and pouting, except a stint in the corner. "All right, Mama."

"And next time those girls say anything to you, you come and tell me about it!" Elena declared. _Nasty spiteful little cats, just like their mamas,_ she thought angrily. _Snubbing my daughter because she's cleverer and Gifted! Humph!_ She could guess where those two got their attitudes from. Anna Peep was one of the worst gossips and rumor mongers in the village and her best friend was Cora's mama, Mavis. Both women didn't like Elena because she was much smarter than they were and didn't believe in spreading rumors and repeating gossip like two jaybirds. They also thought she was odd for marrying an inventor like Maurice when she could have had a rich merchant, or a tax collector, or even a baron once upon a time. Elena snorted. There was no arguing with idiots and those two were the silliest bunch of geese she had ever met!

"I will," Belle said, then asked her papa to please pass the butter so she could put some on her bread.

After supper, while Belle did her schoolwork with Maurice, Elena went over to the Spinners' cottage and had a small talk with Aimee, who assured her that Master Starfall-such an unusual name!—was indeed who he said he was, and a glyphmaster of Avaria. Elena had heard of those powerful sorcerers, because everyone had, and decided that as long as Aimee had said this one was all right, she would let Belle have lessons with Rumple for a few hours a week.

Then she glanced speculatively at her friend and smirked. "And it looks like Master Starfall has caught your eye, Aimee!"

"What? Oh, don't be ridiculous, Elena!" Aimee waved her off. "We only just met . . .and he wouldn't be interested in me anyhow."

"Why not?"

"Because, with what I am, and all, I'm not exactly what men look for in a wife. I'm not pretty, or quiet, or biddable, I speak my mind and can read, do magic, and run my own house without a man's input. Most men don't want that. They want some flittery creature like Anna Peep, who can barely tally her accounts and spends more time rinsing her hair with lemon juice and putting flounces on her skirts than she does correcting her brat of a daughter, who puts on airs worse than the queen's own handmaid!"

"But I don't think Master Starfall is most men," Elena observed. "Maurice said he seems learned and he's sharp as a tack."

"Yes, I believe so. But I doubt he moved here to find a wife," Aimee laughed nervously.

He seemed perfectly content on his own, she thought, and yet a part of her insisted he might also be lonely. Then she brushed that part aside. "Well, I trust him to teach Rumple his glyph magic and how to handle bullies."

"Then I shall send Belle with him. There's little opportunity for higher learning here, Aimee, and I shouldn't deny her this chance, for who knows when she'll get another one?" Elena mused, and decided to quit teasing her friend over the mysterious stranger. What would be, would be.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle and Rumple arrived at Bey's house promptly after school, and the former assassin began to teach them about the glyph alphabet and also the principles of balance and breathing. He wrote out the one hundred and fifty base runes of the alphabet on two slate tablets with chalk, and then had them practice writing them over and over.

"You can make the base runes with anything material—chalk, ink, charcoal, string, water, even hair or blood, if you've a mind to," he instructed. "Though some materials work better than others. But all I want you to learn now is what each rune stands for." He pulled out a chart listing all the basic runes and their pronunciations.

He went over the runes pronunciations with them, and explained that the way you combined the runes together made your spells succeed or fail. As a glyphmaster he knew thousands of ways to combine the runes, in all kinds of materials, and which worked best for each spell. "One thing you need to remember, this magic can have many variations, and it lends itself to being creative, so if you think you may have found a different way of looking at something or combining the runes, don't hesitate to tell me. One of the tenets of a glyph caster is "there is no one true Way." There are tried and true spells and combinations, but you must always be open minded to new things."

Belle enjoyed writing the runes and learning how to say them. She thought it was interesting that how you pronounced them varied if you put another rune beside them, sort of like a word pronounce differently when combined with different letters.

Rumple also enjoyed the written exercises, since they were something he could do without worrying about tripping and falling. He was a little less sanguine about the physical part of the lessons.

Bey made the lessons something of a game once the children had memorized most of the runes. He'd draw a picture and "hide" a rune or two within it and the two had to play "Guess Where The Rune Is" and name it.

This was how his tutor had taught him when he was a child, for children retain knowledge better when it's put to them in an easy to recall format.

The physical lessons he started out with breathing. "Now, children, we're going to learn how to breathe."

"But we already know how to do that," Belle objected.

"Yeah if we didn't we'd be dead," Rumple added.

"Ahh, but can you breathe very quietly?" queried their teacher. "So quiet not even Nyx can hear you?"

"Umm . . no. Can you, Master Bey?" asked the boy.

"I can, son." And he slowed his breathing so it looked as if he were a statue that hardly breathed at all. "So you see, let us breathe. For in breathing properly, you learn focus, and focus shall enable you to defeat many an enemy."

Thus began their lessons with the former Dark One, the finest mage assassin in the realms, had they but known.

Soon fall gave way to winter, and the trees lost their leaves and became bare twigs and skeletal branches stabbing at the leaden winter sky. The children became excited for the upcoming Yule celebrations, and began to talk about a special visit from the Yule Lord himself, Kris Kringle as he was called here in the Enchanted Forest. He was known by other names in other realms, but all the stories agreed upon one thing—he was a magical being who came and brought presents to all the good children and to all the naughty ones he brought coal, rocks, or switches that gave the naughty children well-deserved spankings. Some of the tales said he came by an enchanted sleigh pulled by eight reindeer, some say by a donkey and others by magical snowshoes. Sometimes his helpers were wee elves, or ice sprites who loved the cold, and one tale had an imp named Rumple Bumple who identified all the naughty children. Children could get put on a Nice List and receive a present of their choice , or the Naughty one and receive what their naughtiness had earned them.

Yuletide was also the season where the old year died and gave way to the new, and people performed acts of kindness towards one another. It was considered a season of hope and giving, and it was also the time when the vassals and knights renewed their oaths to their noble lords.

Down in Hearthstone, traveling peddlers were visiting to sell their wares on market day. One such man was selling pretty combs and bows. Bo saw a comb of bone with sparkly pink stones on it and threw a fit until her mama caved and bought it for her.

The next day at school, she wore the comb in her hair.

By noontime she was scratching her head frantically.

Miss Mack called her and asked her what was wrong, and she said, "My head's itchy."

"Let me see," the teacher said softly.

She examined Bo's head, then she said, "I'm afraid all of you must go home and have your parents wash your heads with turpentine. Miss Peep had contracted lice and so may all of you who have been near her."

The kids ran outside screaming and a few of the boys pointed at Bo and yelled, "Lousy Bo! Bo has creepy crawlies!"

Then they ran away giggling.

Rumple stared at Belle. "Your Vision!" he hissed. "It came true!"

A horrified Bo began crying, for now she would have to have her head shaved and wear a kerchief. Then she whirled and screamed at Belle, "I _hate_ you, Belle! You're witch!"

"I didn't do anything to you!" Belle cried.

"You did! You made me get lice!"

"No, you did!" Rumple snapped. "Cause you bought that comb from that peddler. It probably had eggs on it and that's why you've got lice now."

"Shut up, Rumple Retard!" Bo screamed. "Before I cripple your other leg, Hobblefoot!"

Rumple glared at her. "Oh run on home, Bo Creep! Maybe now you'll learn to wash your hair!"

She shrieked and ran at him to kick him, but Rumple recalled his lessons from Bey, and simply pivoted on his good leg and stuck out his crutch.

Bo tripped right over it and landed hard on the ground.

"Oww!" she screamed. "I'm bleeding!" she wailed, upon seeing her scraped knees and hands.

"Oh boo hoo!" Rumple sneered. "Next time watch where you're walking!"

"I hate you too, Rumplestiltskin! I hope you get stuck in a snowdrift and freeze!" she bawled.

"C'mon, Rumple! Let's go home. Before we get cooties," Belle said, and took her friend's arm and they began walking towards their homes.

Luckily when they got home, and their mothers went and checked them with fine toothed combs and spells, neither showed any signs of lice, though Elena washed Belle's hair anyhow just to be sure, and Aimee cast a Pest-Be-Gone charm on Rumple as well.

The next day was market day, and like always Elena had Maurice set up the family's booth next to the Spinners' and the four women talked while they sold their wares.

During lunch, Elena and Belle came and drank hot cocoa with Aimee, Lauren, and Rumple. As was customary, Aimee shared a story with everyone, telling them about the legend of the Frog Prince.

"You mean the frog was really a prince transformed?" asked Belle.

"Yes, dearie. An evil enchantress transformed him into a frog. And the only way the curse could be broken was if he got a girl to fall in love with him in that form." Aimee said.

"Because true love breaks all curses," Rumple said.

"True, but first he had to get a girl to love a frog," Elena said. "And then she had to kiss him."

"I'd rather kiss a frog than a spider," Belle mused.

Rumple was thinking hard. "Mama, wasn't there any other way to break the spell? Like finding a stronger sorcerer or something to break it?"

"According to the story, I guess not," Aimee mused. "But if you're talking about an actual fact—then yes, unless specifically stated, any sorcerer of greater power can undo a lesser one's spell. Or make an object to undo it."

"An object? Like what?" asked Rumple curiously.

"Like the Bracelet of Transfiguration I have," replied Lauren. "That will undo almost all spells of transformation."

"How does it work?" her nephew asked.

"You simply put it on the afflicted and it changes them to their true form."

"Have you ever used it?"

"Once, long ago, I did," Lauren murmured, her eyes distant.

"Who did you change back?" Belle wanted to know.

But Lauren said abruptly, "That's a story for another time, dearies. I have a customer," and she rose and went to speak with the young woman about buying some of her buttercup yellow wool and pretty crimson thread to embroider on it.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

On the way to Bey's cottage that Saturday, Belle asked Rumple, "So what do you want Kris Kringle to bring you?"

"Umm . . ." Rumple looked faintly ashamed. "I want . . .something to replace my old blankie," he admitted. "It's gotten so raggedy that I let my Aunt Claude cut it into scraps an' make a rug outta it for my room. But now I don't have anything to sleep with and . . .I kinda miss it. So I asked Mr. Kringle to bring me something to sleep with so I keep the bad dreams away."

He blushed, and wondered if now Belle would think he was a baby.

But Belle just nodded. "I asked him for some new books and a teaset. Was that all you wanted, Rumple?"

"No. I . . I asked him for a spinning wheel for my size too . . .so I can learn how to spin from mama and my aunts." He had always been curious about spinning thread, and a few times Claude and Lauren had allowed him to spin on their wheels, but he was too small to reach the treadle and it was hard for him.

"You think he'll bring you what you asked for?"

"I hope so," Rumple murmured, wrapping his scarf tighter around his face. It was cold out and the wind was blowing sharply through the trees in large gusts. Snow crunched under his boots as he walked, one hand on his stick. "I've tried to be good."

"Me too," Belle said, even though that was hard at times. Especially when she wanted to wash Cora or Bo's face with snow for being mean and nasty.

Luckily the path to the cottage had been shoveled clear of snow, so he and Belle didn't have trouble walking. As they reached the stretch of trees near the schoolyard they heard something moaning.

Belle halted. "Rumple, what was that?"

Rumple froze. "I don't know. Sounded like something crying."

The sound came again, like an animal in pain.

"It's coming from over there!" Belle pointed to the trees off to the right, firs and oak trees.

Rumple walked forward. "Let's see what it is."

They pushed through the snowy undergrowth and found a young deer lying on the snow, a leg bent beneath it, its head bowed with some short antlers and a dark ruff about its neck. It was a deep brown color, with cream shading its throat and belly, a black moist nose and large liquid brown eyes.

Belle gasped. "Rumple, the poor thing's hurt!"

"I know, looks like his leg is twisted," Rumple said sympathetically. He approached murmuring, "I won't hurt you. See, my leg's lame too." He indicated his own troublesome foot.

The deer flicked its large ears back and forth and made a soft whimpering sound.

Rumple examined the leg, seeing that it was indeed twisted, the right fore bulged at the joint.

"Rumple, what can we do?"

"Uh . . . well . . .I could wrap the leg if . . .if we could get him to a place that's warm and dry."

Belle thought for a moment. "What if . . .what if we took him to my house? My papa's shed is warm n'dry. And I could find some old rags for you to wrap his leg in and give him water from our pump."

"That's good! Because you know . . .I think he's one of Mr. Kringle's magic deer that pull his sleigh," Rumple said softly.

"You do?" Belle eyed the injured deer, who gazed at her with a keen intelligence no wild animal displayed. "I think you're right."

"Uh huh," he nodded. "Remember the picture we saw in your book?"

There was a book Elena had about Yuletide and in it was a drawing of Kringle and his magical sleigh with his magical flying reindeer.

"Yes. But how are we gonna get him there?" Belle pondered.

"Hmm . . ." Rumple thought for a moment.

As if it understood the children's dilemma, the injured deer began to try and get up, struggling hard before it finally gained its feet.

"Oh! He got up!"

"See, I told you, he's magic!" Rumple crowed. "He understood us." He reached out and gently touched the reindeer's nose.

It nuzzled the boy's hand and licked it with its sticky tongue.

Rumple giggled. "Aww! I think he likes me!"

Belle came and stroked the deer also and was rewarded with another lick. "C'mon, let's take him home!"

But when they got to Belle's house, they found Maurice was in the shed, working on a new invention to chop wood in double the time, and Belle hissed, "Oh no! Now what do we do? We can't let Papa or anyone see him. Grown-ups aren't allowed to see Mr. Kringle's deer or else they'll lose their magic."

Rumple put his chin in his hand. "I know! We can hide him in my room! Mama's out in the shop with Aunt Claude and Aunt Lauren's out helpin' some sick people. If we hurry we can get him inside without anybody knowing."

So they urged the reindeer to follow them and soon they reached the Spinner cottage.

Belle went to see if anyone was home, the door was unlocked, and found the cottage empty. "Hurry, Rumple!"

Together, they got the reindeer into the house and Rumple put him in a corner of his room on a blanket. Then he got some old strips of cloth and soaked them in some of his mama's solution for sore joints and wrapped them around the reindeer's leg.

Belle got him some carrots and turnips and some water.

Rumple dragged his extra blanket from his chest and put it over the reindeer, saying, "Now you gotta be quiet, Comet, so's my mama and aunties don't hear you. Understand?"

To their amazement, the reindeer dipped his head, his antlers bowing.

"All right, now shh!" the boy put his finger to his lips and then they went out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

They scampered as quickly as they could to Bey's cottage, reaching it out of breath. Nyx was lying on the porch, and she thumped her tail as the two ran up. Then her nose wrinkled as she smelled the deer on them. She whuffed softly.

The former Dark One looked up as the two entered. "Ah, there you are! I was beginning to think something happened. I almost sent Nyx to look for you. What kept you?"

"Umm . . .I forgot something and had to go back home to get it," Rumple muttered. "I'm sorry I'm late, Master Bey."

"No harm done, Rumple. It's cold as the tenth circle of hell out there today. So why don't you two sit here and get warm and have a cup of cocoa with me before we start lessons today?" Bey suggested easily.

Belle grinned. "With cinnamon and cream?"

"Naturally. You can't drink it any other way," laughed her teacher. That was how they drank it back in Avaria and he'd introduced them all to it one cold day and they all loved it.

As he poured the cocoa into his tea set, Belle and Rumple took off their scarves and cloaks and hung them on hooks by the stove to dry, the wet wool steaming and giving off a faint odor as they did so. Then they went and sat down again at the table.

As they sipped their cocoa, Bey asked softly, "And how is your mama, Rumple? Been keeping?"

"Yes, sir. She's doing fine," he answered respectfully. Then he licked some cream off his lips.

Bey nodded serenely, though his heart beat a little quicker when he thought of the pleasant curly hair spinner who baked such wonderful bread and whose salve eased his aching sore arm so well. Because of the nature of his injury, his glyphs couldn't heal it, and so he relied on mundane methods.

Rumple was hoping the reindeer wouldn't make too much noise in his room, and for the first time ever, wished his lessons were over quickly.

Once they were finished with their cocoa, Bey taught them the glyphs for warmth and had them practice lighting candles by tracing the glyphs in the air.

"Very good!" he praised when Belle lit a candle on the fourth try.

Rumple lit his soon after and received his own well done. Bey had them practice balancing on one leg like a crane, except Rumple used his stick for one of his legs, and then did stretching exercises before he taught them some of his hand to hand techniques, especially Striking Tiger, which could render an opponent senseless if done the right way with just a finger jab.

All of these things were tricks he had learned in his training in silence and shadow, and he taught some of them to his students now . . .though not as rigorously as he had been trained.

He noticed that Rumple seemed somewhat distracted, and almost snapped at him, until he recalled what time of the year it was, and chided himself. _Have you forgotten what it means to be a child at Yuletide?_ No, though he hadn't been a child in many a year, he still remembered, and he also thought of the gift he would give to Rumple—the special gift he had sent for all the way from Avaria. He also had a gift for Belle, another special thing, which his sister had picked out for him, since he was no good at figuring out gifts for girls.

"All right, that's enough for today," he told them after a few more moments. "Rest for now."

As they sat down again at the table, he gave them some bread with butter and cool water. "So have you both made your lists for Kris Kringle?"

"Yes, I did, and Mama mailed it yesterday!" Rumple declared.

"Uh huh, and Papa mailed mine three days ago." Belle said.

"Well, if you're good, we'll see if Mr. Kringle brings you what you asked for," Bey told them, smiling.

"I hope so," Rumple said eagerly. He also hoped that if he helped the reindeer, Mr. Kringle would be even more inclined to do so.

Belle looked up at the clock hanging on Bey's wall and said, "Rumple, we'd better get on home. I gotta help my mama bake some cookies."

"Okay, and I gotta help mine decorate," her friend said, which was true, but he also couldn't wait to go back and see the reindeer.

"All right, you two. I don't want to keep you from your important jobs an risk your mamas scolding me," their teacher grinned. "Besides, it's starting to snow again."

Bey had Nyx walk with them until they reached Belle's house, and then the wolf-dog wagged her tail and licked them goodbye, bounding into the trees a moment later and vanishing like a shadow fleeing the dawn.

"Rumple, what are you gonna do with the reindeer?" whispered Belle. "He can't stay in your room forever!"

The little boy shrugged. "I dunno. Where else can we keep him?"

Belle scratched her head and looked around. "If my papa weren't gonna be using his shed for a few days, I'd tell you to bring him here, but he's working on some new project and is out here almost everyday."

Rumple sighed. "I'll try and think of something else." Snowflakes drifted from the sky and he caught them on his tongue. "I'd better get home now. See you tomorrow, Belle!"

"Bye, Rumple!" Belle waved as Rumple walked the few houses down the street to the Spinners'. She had lessons tomorrow with Claudette, since now that her power had begun to manifest, she had to be trained in interpreting and understanding her Visions.

When Rumple arrived home, Aimee was back from the shop and had just put in a shepherd's pie to bake and was making some gingerbread cookies. The smell of the spices, ginger, and cloves filled the whole house. Rumple inhaled the odor and he started salivating as soon as he walked in the door.

"Mama, m'home!" he called as he hung his cloak on its peg by the door. Then he recalled the deer hidden in his room. He went and poked his head around the doorway of the kitchen and called, "Mama, m'tired an' gonna take a nap!"

Aimee put down her rolling pin. "Rumple, do you feel sick, dearie?"

"No! Just tired!" he said quickly, for if Aimee thought he was sick she'd give him yucky medicine to take and keep checking on him. He covered his mouth in a simulated yawn.

Then he grabbed some cookies off of a platter and scurried from the room.

He raced into his own room, relieved to find that it looked unchanged from the morning.

"Hey!" he whispered.

The reindeer poked its head out from the blue blanket in the corner.

When it saw Rumple, it bleated and got to its feet. It came over to the boy, sniffling and licking him.

Rumple giggled and fed it some gingerbread cookies.

As they ate the gingerbread cookies together, with Rumple sitting on his bed while the reideer snuffled him, Aimee decided to make sure her son wasn't sick and came down the hallway, calling, "Rumple, let me see if you have a fever."

The child froze, his heart beating in his chest like a petrified rabbit's. "Quick! Under the bed!" he hissed to the reindeer.

But the reindeer couldn't crawl beneath the boy's bed, and so Rumple picked him up an shoved him onto the bed and threw both blankets over the deer and then crawled into bed himself and acted like he was sleepy, his heart thundering in his chest.

Aimee opened the door and came in. "Dearie, are you feeling all right?" she asked, and came over to feel his forehead.

"Uh huh. M' just tired," he whined. "I did a lot of magic today an' I'm sleepy. Master Bey said that would happen."

"Hmm, no fever, but . . .why are your blankets all bunched up like that?" she asked. "Let me straighten them out."

She went to remove the blankets and Rumple grabbed them crying, "Mama, I want 'em like this! I'm pretending I'm like a mouse in a nest—all cozy!"

He could feel the reindeer's hot breath on his chest, as it had its head partially on him.

Aimee wanted to laugh, her son looked so adorable with the blanket tucked to his chin and his small face peeking out from them, his hair all floofy. She also knew that as an apprentice, when you used magic in the beginning it made you tired. "All right, you just stay snug as a bug in a rug, imp!" she tweaked his nose. "Have a good nap."

Then she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Rumple wiped sweat from his brow. "Phew! That was close!" he muttered to the deer, who now stuck its nose out from the blankets. Rumple scratched in between its antlers, grateful they were still small, like short nubs. He let the reindeer lick his hand again. "How's your leg feel?"

The little animal made a soft grunt and Rumple gently examined the still swollen foot. "I gotta put more medicine on it, so it heals. An' you probably need to go pee."

The reindeer lowed softly.

"I gotta get you outside before you have an accident on the floor," the boy realized. Suddenly hiding the reindeer in his room wasn't seeming so brilliant after all. He pondered where else he could keep the deer.

Then the wool shed in the yard came to mind. That was where his aunts and mama stored the extra wool for spinning, in big bales in the shed with hay on the floor. _Now why didn't I think of that before? Gods, I really am a woolhead!_

He slipped from the bed, and tiptoed to the door and listened. It sounded like his mama was talking to someone, probably a neighbor. Then he recognized Elena's voice. "I figured I'd stop by and invite you to supper tomorrow night, Aimee. Since you won't take any payment for teaching Belle the Seer's art . . ."

"Elena, Claudette's already told me that she is bound to teach those she finds with the Sight. It's part of the duty of a Seer. But if you insist, we'd gladly accept . . ."

Rumple opened his door to find Belle on the other side. "Hey!"

"Rumple, how's the reindeer?" she whispered.

"Belle, you gotta help me get him outside to the wool shed," he told her hastily. "B'fore Mama sees him or he pees on the floor!"

The little girl's blue eyes went wide. "Oh! Umm . . .all right, I'll 'stract your mama and mine while you sneak out the back."

Rumple smiled at her gratefully. "I know I can count on you." He ducked back in his room to put his boots on and get his stick, then he said to the secret reindeer, "C'mon, Comet, we have to get you outta here. We're gonna go put you in the wool shed, so's nobody sees you."

The young reindeer cocked its head at him, its large ears flopping comically over it eyes till it shook its head. Its tongue licked its nose and it bawled softly.

"Shhh!" Rumple put his finger to his lips. "They'll hear you!"

The reindeer hung his head, looking sorry.

"Rumple, you made him upset," Belle hissed.

Rumple sighed. "Hey, I didn't mean to make you sad, but you gotta be very very quiet!"

The calf bobbed its head up and down.

"All right, I'm gonna go and 'stract them," Belle said, and went and ran into the other room, holding a book in her hands from Rumple's room.

"Mama, look at this book of Rumple's," she said in a shrill voice. "Can we please buy one for me?"

It was a book on adventure tales, about knights errant and powerful wizards and dragonslayers and clever children.

Elena peered at it and took it to look at it more closely.

"Oh, that one's one of his favorites," Aimee said upon seeing the brightly colored dragon and wizard on the cover. "He has me read some every night before he goes to bed. Speaking of which, he's taking a nap right now. I guess Master Starfall tired him out."

Belle hid a grin.

Rumple quickly tapped his way down the hall, his hand upon the reindeer's back. He had gotten halfway across the kitchen and to the back door when he heard Aimee say to Elena, "How about I get you some gingerbread cookies?"

"No! We're not hungry!" Belle blurted, desperate to keep Aimee out of the kitchen. She knew with Rumple's leg he couldn't move as quickly and neither could the injured reindeer.

"Belle!" Elena reproved. "What's gotten into you?"

"Umm . . it's just that Master Bey gave us cocoa an' cakes at his house an' . . ." she was thinking furiously. "But I can show you what I learned today, Mama." She traced the glyph for summoning and then for cookies next to it. They left a glowing trail of blue light in the air.

And the plate of gingerbread floated over to them.

Both women started praising her for her efforts, allowing Rumple to hurry with the injured deer into the kitchen and then open the back door and hobble out into the snow and sunshine to the wool shed.

The snow crunched under his boots as Rumple used his stick to poke through the snow and prayed he wouldn't get stuck in it, but the path to the shed had been tramped down by his aunts' feet and so provided a slightly easier causeway in which to tread, if a bit slippery.

The reindeer gamboled beside him happily, in spite of its injured limb, obviously happy to be outside, and Rumple waited beside the shed door while the little deer pranced about, lipping the snow and tossing its head when snow crystals from the tree branches fell in its eyes. He noted the reindeer had the good sense to relieve itself before trotting into the shed and lying down on a pile of hay in the corner.

Rumple took the jar of salve from his pocket, along with a length of linen gotten from Lauren's scrap pile, and applied the concoction to its leg again and wrapped it. Then he brought the deer some snow in a small bucket to drink and shook some oatmeal from a container he'd snatched onto the ground for it to eat.

"I'll be back later with Belle, boy," he said and petted the animal as it ate.

Then he hid the oatmeal container inside his shirt again and left the reindeer munching the raw oats.

Inside, Aimee, Elena, and Belle were now in the front room, munching gingerbread and listening to Belle tell a funny story about her papa forgetting to put his left shoe on and running out into the snow to go to his shed to finish his invention and hopping on one foot because his foot was frozen, making Elena and Aimee giggle.

Rumple slipped into the warm kitchen, and put the oatmeal container back and then nonchalantly strolled into the front room and said, "Mmm! I smell gingerbread, Mama!"

"Hello, sleepyhead!" Aimee went and hugged him. "Here, have some, dearie."

As Rumple took a cookie from the plate, he winked at Belle.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

For the next week, Rumple and Belle took care of the injured reindeer, which stayed hidden in the wool shed most times, and was only let out when the children were sure it wouldn't be seen running about, for brief periods. Its leg was almost healed after four days, and Rumple dreaded the time when he must let the deer go, for he knew the reindeer must return to his home and Mr. Kringle.

But until then, the small boy enjoyed being with the deer, who loved to snatch his scarf from him and nibble it and run about with it in its mouth. Belle and Rumple would chase it, giggling, through the yard, and once or twice Rumple slipped and fell on his bottom, but he never minded, and always got up, dusted himself off, and the game continued till they were all tired and the children's cheeks red chapped from the cold.

Rumple continued getting up very early in the morning, almost before the first dawn light tinted the sky, to go and feed the reindeer and bring more wool from the shed so his aunts didn't need to go inside there and see the reindeer in the straw.

Aimee remarked about how quickly she was going through the oatmeal one morning, making Rumple look guiltily down by his feet, since he had been feeding some each day to the reindeer. "Oh well, guess that's to be expected since we're eating more of it each morning. I'll need to get more."

When Rumple brought the little deer food that night, the reindeer lipped his hair and nibbled on it.

"Hey!" the boy cried, shoving the questing nose away. "I'm not food, you silly thing! You're gonna make me bald!"

The deer nudged Rumple's chest, asking to be petted and Rumple cradled the head in his hands and stroked its face, loving the soft velvety feel of the fur.

"I wish . . .I could keep you forever, but I know you gotta go back so Mr. Kringle can have you pull his sleigh," he murmured, and the reindeer bleated and tossed its head as if it understood.

When Claudette saw Rumple return with a basket of uncarded wool, she praised him for his diligence, and the boy blushed and looked at his feet. "Thanks, Aunt Claude," he muttered, feeling even more guilty, since part of the reason he was being so helpful was because he needed to keep a secret.

The next morning, Rumple noted something odd about his reindeer pal. The reindeer had begin pawing through his straw bed, and leaving marks upon the dirt floor of the shed—marks that Rumple could almost swear looked like letters.

But he couldn't be sure and it was so odd that he just fed his friend like always before hurrying to meet Belle and go to lessons at Bey's house. But his busy brain was full of possible reasons for the markings on the floor. H spoke of them to Belle as they walked.

"So you think the reindeer might be enchanted?" she asked.

"Uh huh. Cause it looked like it was writing something."

"And animals don't write," the small Seer said.

"Nope. Less they're more n' that."

"But how do you know for sure?"

He shrugged. "Dunno."

That day, Rumple asked his mage master, "How can you tell if a creature's enchanted, Master Bey?"

"Well . . ." the former assassin mused. "There's a couple of ways, lad. One is to see if the creature has any identifying markings—like a scar or a lock of hair or a tattoo, since those things transfer to another form." He absently rubbed his wrist, where his tattoo was, covered as always by his shirt.

"And how about if they don't?" his student asked, having never seen anything like that on the deer.

"Then you need to see if the animal exhibits anything . . .odd, like an unusual intelligence or something. Oh, and also sometimes an enchanted animal's eyes will change abruptly from a normal color to something more suited to a human-like usually a frog's eyes are pure black, but an enchanted frog will have eyes that are blue or brown like a person's on occasion. But it's not always easy."

"Oh," Rumple said, and filed the information away.

The two friends went back to Rumple's cottage that day, so Rumple could see if his suspicions were right and the reindeer was not simply a magical deer, but a human enchanted into that form.

The two entered the shed, and found the reindeer awake and chewing on a bale of wool.

"No!" Rumple screeched. "Don't do that!"

The deer jumped, startled, then drew away, looking rather chagrined.

"You'll get sick," the boy told the reindeer softly.

"Here," Belle held out an apple on her palm.

The reindeer came and lipped it off, crunching it eagerly.

Afterwards, it began pawing at the ground again, tossing its head agitatedly.

"What's the matter?" Belle frowned.

Rumple stared at the reindeer, and saw the eyes shift from a dark liquid color with almost no pupil to a brilliant blue, like that of a summer sky, which was not the normal color of a deer. He gasped. "Belle!" He pointed.

Her mouth dropped open. "Rumple! It's like the frog prince!"

As the deer attempted once more to communicate with the children, Belle examined the marks on the ground and said, "Rumple, I think he's trying to tell us something."

Rumple nodded. "Like—like a message!"

The deer bobbed its head at those words. Then it tried again to scratch something in the dirt.

Belle frowned. "I think that's an 'e' and maybe a—'k' but it's hard to read."

The reindeer gave a soft bleat of exasperation. Clearly it wanted to impart something.

"I know! Maybe he needs help!" Rumple said. "Like help spelling!"

"Do you have any letter cards?" Belle queried, recalling that was how her papa had taught her the alphabet.

"Umm . .. better, I have blocks!" Rumple said, and ran inside to his toy box to get the colored alphabet blocks at the bottom of it.

Rumple hurried back to them with the blocks in a small sack and laid them out in front of the reindeer.

The reindeer's oddly colored eyes brightened and then it began to nudge the blocks into a certain pattern on the ground.

"Look!" Belle cried. "He's spelling something!"

The reindeer nudged blocks for several minutes, and then paused. Then it tossed its head and bleated sharply.

Rumple went and examined what the reindeer had spelled with the blocks.

**"I AM KRIS KRINGLE."**

Both children almost fell over.

"You . . . _you're_ Kris Kringle?" Belle blurted.

The reindeer bobbed his head.

"I knew it!" Rumple cried, ecstatic. "I knew you were enchanted. How'd it happen?"

The reindeer nudged the alphabet blocks again.

**"MAGIC. SNOW QUEEN."**

"She turned you into a reindeer," Rumple stated.

Again the reindeer nodded.

Belle looked at Rumple. "We gotta help him, Rumple. If Mr. Kringle's trapped as a reindeer, he can't bring any presents to the kids in the Enchanted Forest or anywhere else. There'll be no Yuletide without Mr. Kringle."

"I know. But . . . we're just 'prentice mages, Belle. We can't change him back ourselves. And . . .and we can't ask Master Bey either cause . .. no grown-ups are allowed to see the magic reindeer."

"So what are we gonna do? It's three days before Yule."

Rumple rubbed his head, thinking hard. Then he recalled that on the same day Aimee had told them about the frog prince, Lauren had also talked about her magical Bracelet of Transfiguration. Then he knew what he had to do. "We gotta get Aunt Lauren's bracelet, Belle."

"Huh? Why d'you want jewelry for?"

"Cause it's magical. Her Bracelet of Transfiguration," he explained.

"Do you know where it is?"

"Umm . . .well, I have an idea," he said.

Lauren usually kept all of her magical objects in the still room, in a cabinet.

And she happened to be at the shop today.

"Wait here," he ordered, then he limped inside.

He didn't like what he was about to do next, but he had no choice. Without the Yule Lord, children would be deprived of the presents they had been good all year for. And Yuletide cheer that Mr. Kringle brought along with them.

So he slipped inside and ducked into the stillroom and went up to Lauren's special chest with the carved runes on it. Then he recalled his lessons with Master Bey on how to form glyphs for spells and he put together the glyphs for "Open" and "Lock".

They hung in the air like twin firebrands before they were absorbed into the wood . . . and the chest popped open.

He rummaged through it, finding several unusual things inside, like a golden chalice, a bridle made of starlight, and even a glittering golden diadem. But he ignored all of them until he saw a bracelet made of ivory with pictures etched on it of animals becoming men and vice versa.

"There you are!" he whispered.

Then he grabbed it and raced back outside to where Belle waited with the reindeer.

"Rumple, did you find it?" she asked.

"Uh huh," he held it out for her to see.

Belle grinned. "Good! Now let's see if it works."

Rumple moved over to where the transformed deer was standing. "May I?" he held out a hand for the reindeer's hoof.

The reindeer gracefully lifted his hoof and placed it in Rumple's hand.

Rumple slid the bracelet, which a circle as large around as a man's bicep, over the reindeer's hoof and onto its leg.

As soon as the bracelet circled the reindeer it began to glow and then the glow spread over the reindeer, so bright that the two children had to squint and turn away, shielding their eyes.

When the glow died, a slender man with flowing white hair and bright blue eyes wearing a red coat and green lace-up leather pants and black boots stood there. His cheeks were reddened as if from cold and he chuckled so hard his belly shook.

"Hello, Rumplestiltskin and Belle. Thank you for rescuing me. I had feared I was going to remain in that shape past Yule. And if that happened, my curse could never be broken."

"Why, Mr. Kringle?" asked Belle.

"Because, child, those were the term of the Snow Queen's enchantment. She cursed me into the form of one of my reindeer, and forbid me to seek help from any of my people. She said if I did not find someone to break my curse before Yule, I would remain forever a beast, and forget who I was."

"Why would she do that?" Rumple cried.

"Because, lad, she hates that I am her opposite, and during the twelve days of Yuletie, my magic reigns supreme, and brings light and joy to children and to everyone," Kris explained. "The Snow Queen is bitter, her heart turned to ice out of jealousy and greed, and she wants to see all the world, especially little children, miserable, as she is miserable."

"Is it true she steals little children away?" asked Belle in a hushed tone.

"Yes. You see, long ago, she had a child, Kay, and that child was her joy, but all children grow up and when he was courting age he met a young girl. Her name was Gerda and he fell in love with her. He asked his mother to bless their union as they wished to marry, but she was jealous, and didn't want to lose her son. So she refused, and the two decided to run off together. When the queen found out, she was furious. She chased them down as they tried to flee and in her rage, threw an ice bolt at Gerda. But Kay moved in front of her at the last second, and it hit him instead, freezing his heart. He turned to ice and cracked into a million little pieces. She had killed what she loved most. But Gerda escaped and lived to tell the tale, eventually marrying the King of Arendelle in the far North. In her grief, the Snow Queen swore that if she could not have her child back, then no one shall. She now hates all children and has vowed to make every child's heart ice and never love their parents again. To that end she steals what children she can. But on Yule her icy power is diminished, and mine rises, and I can protect the children from her. She hates me for that, and seeks ever to thwart me. Thus—I became a reindeer."

He removed the bracelet from his wrist and handed it to Rumple. "I owe you two a great debt. And in payment I give you both a wish-one wish to be used in a time when your need is greatest."

He waved a hand and two glistening pendants appeared made from two snowflakes he plucked from the sky.

"The wish is in these." He handed one to each child.

As both children put them on, they heard a familiar voice call, "Rumple, where are you?"

Before they could move, Lauren appeared in the yard. "Rumplestiltskin, did you take my bracelet?" she demanded sternly, upon seeing him with it.

The child glanced back at her guiltily. "Yes . . .but . . .it's a long story."

It was then the elder woman caught sight of Kris Kringle standing there. "Oh!" she gasped as she saw him.

Kris turned to her and bowed. "Greetings, fair lady. I am Kris Kringle, at your service."

And for once Lauren Spinner, who normally was never at a loss for words, had nothing whatsoever to say.


	9. Yuletide Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yule is celebrated by all, and Lauren realizes she's in love and so does Aimee. Rumple and Belle recieve special gifts from Bey and also Mr. Kringle. Plus a soecial tale is told about the sorcerer's apprentice.

Lauren Spinner was not what you would call a beautiful woman. She did not possess a willowy body, hourglass shape, luxurious blond hair, preferably with curls, blue eyes, or the face and voice of an angel. She was tall, tall as most men, and her frame was not delicate, but sturdy. She was thin, but her hair was more like a horse’s mane, thick and wild, colored like rusty red clay, than anything poets rhapsodized over. Her eyes were an ordinary brown, and her face while pleasant was not the kind of face men dreamed about over their ale at night. She was also a known bluestocking, meaning an intellectual, and could read, write, and discuss various topics like literature, mathematics, and business deals. She could spin an incredible thread and mix up potions for almost any ailment. But she was not sweet tempered, indeed she had a quick temper and even sharper tongue, and had given up long ago finding any man who would take her as she was.

But when she set eyes on the man known as Kris Kringle, the elusive magical being, some said he was a god, others a sorcerer, still others said he was a Lord of Faerie, she felt her common sense fly out of her ears and all she could think of was that here was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on.

Kris wasn’t conventionally handsome, either. He had hair the shade of snow, though he was by no means an old man, and his eyes were a bright azure like pieces of aquamarines, and he was as tall as she was. He was ruddy cheeked, and his face was lean and somewhat sharp planed. He was slender like a rangy hound or a sleek race horse, and didn’t possess the physique of a knight or a soldier. He was also graceful, and she could feel that he possessed a magic equal to or greater than her own.

She had never let a man intimidate her or fluster her. Yet Lauren found herself tongue-tied, like a silly schoolgirl seeing a man for the first time.

Kris’s blue eyes twinkled like stars upon a cloudless night, and she found herself groping for something to say.

But all she could say was, “Hello.”

It was Rumple who broke the ice between them, saying, “Mr. Kringle, this is my Aunt Lauren. I borrowed her bracelet to restore you.” He gave Lauren one of his guilty little grins.

Lauren coughed and then tore her gaze from the man standing there in his red coat and green pants—normally anyone who wore those colors would have been labeled by her as a popinjay and laughed at-but on him they looked perfectly right—and fastened a rather stern look upon her nephew. “Rumplestiltskin, how many times have I told you never to touch my magical objects without my permission?”

The boy’s head drooped. “Couple times. M’sorry, but . . .we needed it so we could change the reindeer back into Mr. Kringle.”

“The _reindeer_?” Lauren repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s talking about the form I was enchanted into by the Snow Queen, Miss Spinner,” Kris explained.

Lauren looked like she was about to pass out. “Maybe you’d better come inside, sir. You look like you haven’t had a solid meal or a cup of tea in a week.”

“Well, I haven’t. Just oatmeal and carrots,” laughed the other.

“Oatmeal? Carrots?” she peered hard at her nephew and Belle. “I think you two young’uns have some explaining to do.”

“Yes, Miss Lauren,” Belle murmured, looking as guilty as Rumple.

Soon they were all inside the cottage, and while Lauren served Kris some tea and spice cookies and a sandwich of cheese and ham with honeyed mustard, Aimee interrogated Belle and Rumple about the reindeer they’d helped, and she almost choked on her own spice cookie when Rumple admitted that he’d hidden the reindeer in his room.

“You had a reindeer in your _bed?”_ she gasped. “Good gods, it could have had fleas!”

Now Kris nearly choked on his tea. “Madam, I assure you I had nothing of the kind!”

“Aimee!” Lauren cried, scandalized. “The reindeer was Mr. Kringle!”

“Yeah, Mama, and he’s a magical reindeer and they can’t get fleas,” Rumple added knowingly.

Aimee snorted. “Really, dearie? And just how do you know that, little imp?”

Rumple shrugged. “I just do. Right, Mr. Kringle?”

Kris nodded. “The lad’s correct, Miss Aimee. As a magical creature I wasn’t susceptible to things like diseases and fleas . . .though that may have changed if I wasn’t restored by Yule. As it was, I was injured and owe these two youngsters a great debt, and you also for giving me a roof over my head.” Then he winked and chuckled. “Even if you didn’t know it at the time.”

“We were honored to help you in your time of need, Mr. Kringle,” Lauren said, and fought to keep from batting her eyelashes at him like some ninny. Really, what on earth was wrong with her? Then she turned to her nephew and said, “But Rumple, you know what you did was wrong. Magical objects must always be treated with respect and caution, lest you harm yourself or someone else. Magic always comes with a price. You’re lucky the bracelet didn’t require a price you couldn’t pay, lad.”

“Like what?”

“Like half your life energy or seven years of slavery or something,” Lauren scolded. “As it is, you’ll be tired for an hour or so.” She rubbed the bracelet in her apron pocket, wishing she’d worn something more attractive.

“Rumple, why didn’t you tell us about the reindeer?” asked Aimee.

“Cause . . .everyone knows grown-ups aren’t ‘llowed to see Mr. Kringle’s reindeer . . .or else they lose their magic,” her son pointed out.

“That’s why we couldn’t ask you for help,” Belle told them.

Lauren sighed. “I suppose your hearts were in the right place, although your methods leave something to be desired, dearies.”

“Miss Lauren, didn’t you use the bracelet once?” Belle asked, wondering if they were still in trouble and trying to distract the older woman.

“I did . . .and unfortunately it didn’t work out like I’d planned,” Lauren replied. “There was a merchant family we knew in Broceliande and their only son and heir had been cursed by a wandering enchantress into a frog. They tried all kinds of potions and spells from hedge witches and traveling sorcerers but nothing could remove the curse and make their son into a man again. But I had this bracelet long ago as payment from a gypsy seer, so I offered to use it and the merchant promised that if I changed their son back, he would court me. So I did . . .but he proved to be an arrogant prig and we couldn’t stand one another, so our courtship lasted a mere three days before he called it off, saying he’d never fall in love with the likes of some bluestocking girl big as a troll with a homely face and that was that.”

Rumple scowled. “He didn’t like you ‘cause you were tall and smart? What a dimwit!”

“Yeah. Who wants a dumb girl?” Belle snorted.

“Not me, dearie,” her friend assured her. “I want a girl who can read, write, n figure past 100 and be able to tie her own bootlaces and everything. George can have silly old Bo and Cora, who need to count on their fingers and think looking in a mirror is gonna help them learn their alphabet.”

Lauren, Aimee, and Kris were almost prostrate with laughter at the little boy’s assessment of his ideal woman.

“And _I_ want a boy who’s kind n’ considerate of a girl, an’ can read the dictionary an’ has manners and don’t pick his nose, scratch his butt, or fart and think he smells like roses like Felix.” Belle added. “And he’s gotta know how to do something besides climb trees and beat up people, like invent things or spin or be a ‘pothecary.”

“Out of the mouths of babes!” gasped Aimee, giggling hysterically.

Lauren and Kris both wiped streaming eyes.

Then Kris said, “It’s good you two know what you wish for in a wife or husband. That will be important later on as you grow older.” He caught himself as he looked over at Lauren, and he felt a blush rise in his cheeks, and was grateful for their natural ruddiness. He didn’t know what was the matter with him, eyeing his hostess like this.

But he found her laugh reminded him of summer and her forthright manner refreshing.

Then Rumple asked, “Felix and George are usually naughty and mean. Are you gonna put coal or switches in their stockings?”

“So are Bo and Cora,” Belle reminded.

Kris’s eyes twinkled. “Well, I never reveal those little details, younglings. But every child has been observed and will get what they deserve on Yule morning.”

Belle cocked her head. “Do you ever give grown-ups presents?”

“Uh . . .occasionally . . .” he said, thinking there was one grown-up in particular he wished to give a gift to . . .but he didn’t know if it would be the proper thing to do.

“What made you start giving little children presents anyway?” queried Lauren.

“Well . . . I noticed at first that the winter season was so dull and dreary, I wanted to brighten it up a bit, make it less gloomy. Then I noticed there were always some children who had nothing while others had a lot and at first I thought it would be kind to give small gifts to poor children. Then I realized that even those with plenty sometimes went without a kind word or had too many expectations upon them. Before long I realized it would only be fair to bring gifts to all the children here . . .as long as they tried hard to be good and obey their mothers and fathers and guardians. It made me happy to bring joy to the children . . .and to encourage children to behave and do good to others. So that’s why.”

“Do you use your magic to make the toys?” asked Aimee.

“Sometimes, but I now have helpers, wood elves, who make some toys for me,” Kris explained. “In return I give them a place of refuge, because lately the number of humans has been growing and the elves and other fae are being slowly pushed aside, since more people are building with cold iron, which is anathema to most fair folk.”

“You are a most unusual sorcerer,” mused Lauren.

“I love my magic, Miss Spinner, and my solitude, but I must admit that bringing smiles to children’s faces on Yule morning makes me very happy,” Kris admitted shyly. Then he said, “I thank you all for your hospitality and generosity, but I must be going. I have much to do before Yule. Good tidings to all! And don’t forget to look in your stockings, Rumple and Belle!”

Then he bowed to Lauren and handed her a crown of golden holly berries and white snowdrops. “For the head of the house, may your Yule be joyous, Miss Lauren.”

“Yours too, my lord,” she stammered, holding the crown as if it were precious jewels.

“Please, call me Kris,” he entreated, then he took her hand and kissed it.

The touch of his lips made Lauren tremble, like an aspen kissed by a high wind.

Then the Yule Lord was gone in a twinkling of sky blue sparkles, and Aimee grinned and said, “Looks like you’ve got yourself an admirer, Lauren.”

Her sister blushed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Aimee. He was just being kind and gracious.”

Aimee smirked. “I didn’t see him giving anyone else a crown of holly and snowdrops, dearie.”

“You’re a hopeless romantic, Aimee!” Lauren declared, now bright red as said holly berries.

Rumple started giggling into his cup of tea, causing Lauren to frown at him. “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you? Well, dearie, you won’t be laughing once I tell you that you’ll be skipping lessons with Master Starfall for a week because you touched my bracelet without my permission. If you can’t respect my privacy and my magic, Rumplestiltskin, then maybe you aren’t ready to learn magic.”

Rumple immediately quit laughing, his huge brown eyes filling with guilty tears. “I’m not gonna have lessons with Master Bey anymore?”

“For a week you’re not,” Lauren scolded. “And you will tell him why yourself.”

The little boy bit his lower lip and looked down at the tablecloth, now ashamed.

Belle felt sorry for her best friend and said, “If you don’t have lessons, Rumple, I guess I won’t either, since I helped you hide Mr. Kringle.”

“No, Belle you don’t need to,” Rumple began.

But his friend nodded stubbornly. “Do too. Fair’s fair, and I helped you.”

“All right,” he sighed, but he felt somewhat better knowing he’d have someone to share his punishment with. But he resolved to go and tell Master Bey himself.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Rumple went over to Bey’s cottage the very next day, after he ate breakfast and before he had to go to school, so he could tell the glyphmaster about his transgression and subsequent punishment before he was supposed to meet him for lessons after school. He found Nyx gnawing a large bone on the doorstep. “Hey, Nyx,” he greeted the big wolf-dog.

Nyx wagged her tail and looked up from her bone, her green eyes welcoming.

Rumple knelt and petted her, whispering, “I won’t be seeing you for a week, cause I was bad n’ touched Aunt Lauren’s bracelet, but I promise to bring you something nice for Yule, ‘kay?”

Nyx licked his face, sensing the little boy was upset about something.

Rumple sighed, a sigh that went down to his shoes, then limped past the wolf-dog and knocked on the door.

“Master Bey? It’s me,” he called.

“Come in, Rumple,” the former Dark One called out.

Rumple entered the cottage and went into the kitchen, where the stove was always burning, and saw his mentor at the wash basin off to the side, shaving with neat flicks of his straight razor, a warmed towel around his neck, his shirt off.

The child noted several faint white scars on Bey’s shoulders and back, and wondered what they were from. But he didn’t want to pry, he was already sure Bey was going to be disappointed in him for what had happened, he didn’t need his master angry at him for asking impertinent questions.

Bey set down his razor and dried himself off with the towel, and as he began pulling his shirt on realized his dagger tattoo was exposed . . . as was his back which bore scars from a whipping he’d gotten as boy for snitching a piece of bread before he was recognized as a King’s Dagger and taken to the palace for training. _Damn!_ He swore softly and tucked his shirt into his pants. Then he turned about, making sure his sleeves were covering any incriminating evidence and said cheerily, “So what brings you by this early in the morning, lad? Did you have a question for me?”

To his shock, the child looked despondent. “No . . .got something to tell you,” muttered Rumple.

Bey walked over to him, silent footed as always. “What is it, son?”

“I . . .I can’t come for lesson for a week, Aunt Lauren said. ‘Cause I was bad,” mumbled his student.

“Why? What did you do?” asked Bey, puzzled.

Rumple hung his head. “I . . .I touched her Bracelet of Transfiguration. Because I needed it to save Mr. Kringle when he was a reindeer.”

“What? Maybe you’d better start from the beginning,” Bey encouraged, and sat down next to the boy.

He listened as the boy related everything about the mysterious reindeer and how he and Belle had hid the reindeer from everyone and then discovered it was really Mr. Kringle and he needed Lauren’s bracelet to transform him back.

“I shoulda asked, but . . .I thought it wouldn’t make a difference if I borrowed it for a bit . . . and I thought if I told her why that we could never transform him back cause he would lose his magic.”

“I see.” Bey found his mouth twitching in spite of himself, for this reminded him so much of something he had done as a boy , and the memory mae him smile now. “Well, your aunt was right because sometimes magical objects can be very dangerous, Rumple, and you could have hurt yourself or Belle or even Mr. Kringle badly by using an object you knew nothing about. So while I don’t like you having to miss your lessons with me, perhaps this will serve as a reminder to not touch an object unless you ask permission in the future, hmm?”

“Yes, Master Bey.”

The boy looked so woebegone and miserable that Bey did something on impulse, something he normally wouldn’t have done, yet he felt Rumple needed the reassurance. He pulled the boy into a hug and sat with him on his lap. “All’s forgiven, imp. But let me tell you a little story . . .about another little boy who was very much like you, and who touched something his mage master told him not to . . .”

Rumple eyes widened. “Really? What happened?” He snuggled close to Bey and found he didn’t mind the older man holding him at all, and waited to hear the story.

Bey cleared his throat slightly, then began, “Once upon a time there was a boy of around ten who was an apprentice to a mighty sorcerer. Now the sorcerer had many magical objects in his collection and he told the boy sometimes what they did and how they could be used. Some were objects that could help people, but others were dangerous and those the sorcerer kept locked away in a special cabinet with glass that couldn’t break. The cabinet was also enchanted so that if any curious apprentice attempted to pick the lock or use magic to open it, the cabinet would scorch their fingers.”

Rumple winced. He would have avoided that cabinet like the plague!

“Well, one day the master had to go out on an assignment for the king, and in his hurry he left one of his most powerful enchanted objects out of the cabinet. Now his apprentice normally wouldn’t have touched it, but this time his curiosity got the better of him. The boy saw it was a hat, and not just any hat, but one made of special blue magical material and it had several potent glyphs of power sewed all over it. The boy could feel the power emanating from the hat even without touching it.

“So, even though he knew he shouldn’t, the apprentice put the hat on his head and as he did so he commanded it to help him with his chores for that day, since his master wished him to clean the suite of rooms for him. He summoned mops, brooms, and featherdusters.

“Before long everything was washed, scrubbed, and gleaming, but when the apprentice tried to command the cleaning implements to leave, they refused to obey him. The mops kept right on washing, the brooms sweeping, and the dusters dusting.

“Frantic, the apprentice shouted, “Stop!” in almost every language he knew, and sketched the glyphs for it too. But nothing worked. Soon the cleaning crew had nearly filled the whole suite with water.”

“Uh oh! What did he do?” gasped Rumple.

“Well, he started trying to move all the spellbooks up high, while the water swished about his ankles, and he grabbed all the papers and things off his master’s desk, still yelling at the mops to quit washing.

“And just when he feared the cleaning brigade was going to wash him right out the top of the windows . . .his master returned,” Bey’s voice got grim.

“Umm . . .I bet he was in trouble.”

Bey nodded. “The mighty sorcerer traced the glyph in the air for “Cease!”and everything obeyed him. Then he walked over to the apprentice and plucked the hat off his head, and waved his hand and his quarters were no longer like an undersea palace.

“He pointed to a chair, and his apprentice sat in it, knowing he was in terrible trouble.

“His master lectured him about never ever touching any of his magical objects again and then he made the boy serve in the kitchens as a pot boy for two weeks and refused to teach him any more magic during that time.

“And the apprentice learned to never ever touch a magical item again, since all magic comes with a price and that price might be more than he was willing to pay.” Bey finished.

He tweaked Rumple’s nose.

Rumple smiled at him. “Did the apprentice grow up to be a powerful sorcerer too?”

Bey grinned. “He did. Because, you see, Rumple, that apprentice was— _me.”_

The child almost fell off Bey’s lap. “ _You_ were the naughty boy in the story?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. And I wouldn’t have blamed my master, Yen Sid, if he thrashed me and turned me out of his service. But my master was kinder than he appeared, and he gave me a second chance . . .and I never ever touched any of his magical objects again unless he asked me to. So while I am disappointed in you, lad, I also understand where a small boy’s curiosity can lead.”

Little did Bey know, but the Tale of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice was beginning to make the rounds in other kingdoms, and soon the tale of the boy who would become the most feared mage assassin in Avaria and beyond would become a legend.

But in Hearthstone, Bey was content to just be a teacher to his two gifted students, and after he had sent Rumple on his way to school with Nyx accompanying him, the master assassin went to a chest and removed a pair of small shoes, one of which was different from the other, having a special sole built into it, and he smiled gleefully like the child he’d been when he imagined the face of the boy he was slowly coming to regard as a surrogate son, when he opened it on Yule morning.

He also had something special for Belle, and hoped she enjoyed what his half-sister had picked out for her.

Then he began to roll out some pie crust and removed the brandied peaches, currants, and almonds from the pantry and began making a special Yuletide treat, brandied peach pie, which had been a favorite in Avaria, for Aimee, and he hoped her sisters would like it also.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

The first day of Yule dawned cold and sunny, and Belle woke early and ran into the living room to see if Kris Kringle had left her something in her stocking. She found her stocking filled with a shiny red Avarian pear, two new storybooks, one called _A Clever Maid’s Travels_ and the other called _The Seer’s Primer-a guidebook to interpreting dreams and visions_. Both books were bound in leather and had gold limned pages. Beside the stocking was a large blue foil wrapped package, with a big red velvet bow.

Belle decided to wait to open that one and instead ran down the hall to bang on her parents’ door, calling, “Happy Yule, Mama and Papa! Wake up!”

Maurice groaned and shoved his head under the pillow. “ _Ma petite_ , it’s too early to get up.”

A smirking Elena poked her husband and yanked his night cap off his ears. “Get up, slugabed! ‘Tis Yule morning and you know how you were on it!”

“Yes, I was a horrible excitable wretch,” Maurice sighed, then he went to get up and put on his robe and slippers.

Elena was already in her printed rose wrapper and had her feet in her moosehide slippers.

Both parents hugged and kissed their daughter, and wished her Happy Yule, then Elena went to make coffee and heat up the croissants she’d gotten with plum jam from the bakery for breakfast.

“Papa, look what Mr. Kringle brought me!” Belle shrilled, and dragged Maurice down to the living room and showed her father the books and the pear and said, “This is here too, but let’s wait for Mama to open it!”

When Elena came in with two steaming mugs of coffee, Mauirce took one, and said, “Belle, let’s see what is in the big box!”

Together, the two parents grinned as the child tore into the box and found a lovely tea set, of beautiful ivory with purple and gold trim. It included a tea pot, sugar bowl, creamer, and four cups and saucers.

“Mama, it’s tea set!” Belle cried happily.

“It’s beautiful, darling!” Elena said. “Shall we make some holiday tea to go in it?”

Belle nodded happily. Then she turned to gather up the shredded paper and nearly tripped over another package wrapped neatly in silver paper. On it was a tag that read- _For Belle, May you have a joyous Yule, Your friend Bey Starfall_.

“Papa! Master Bey left me a present!” Belle crowed, and she tore open the paper to find a huge book with a beautiful illustration on the cover. In lovely curlicue script was the words _Once Upon a Time—a magical book of stories_. “How pretty!” the little girl exclaimed, and she opened the book to the first tale—called _Snow White_ —and as she started to read the words below the picture-the picture suddenly shimmered and the people in it jumped up from the page and began to act out the story, like a play.

Belle and her parents were speechless and they watched the story play out in awe, having never known anything like the enchanted storybooks of Avaria, made by the Librarians Guild especially for those of the royal family and those rich folk who could afford them. The book had new stories appear in it from time to time, and was a treasure trove of folk lore as well.

Belle sat entranced on the floor in front of the book, and couldn’t wait to show her new gift to Rumple.

_Spinner residence:_

Aimee was awake before the sun, putting in the cinnamon rolls to bake and the pumpkin pie for dessert. Her rosemary bread was wrapped on the counter and she had seasoned a pheasant for dinner along with mashed turnips, creamed spinach, and wild rice with cranberries and walnuts. Lauren’s favorite butter cookies were in a plate on the side board along with gingerbread men and Claudette’s chocolate peanut stars.

She went to get the basket of eggs from the porch, which Tom Swayer had gathered for her along with a pail of milk as his Yule gift, and found two unexpected packages on the porch, one with Rumple’s name on it and the other with her own. Both bearing tags written in the elegant neat script of Bey Starfall.

Aimee felt her heart beat quickly as she took all the items into the cottage. The morning was frosty and sunny and she smiled like a little girl again as she put her gift from Bey, whom she had made a special basket of healing salves for his arm and a special aftershave cologne and intended to give it to him later on, on the table.

Before she could unwrap it, she heard Rumple’s little stick tapping as he limped barefoot into the kitchen and called, “Happy Yule, Mama!”

“Happy Yule, son!” Aimee giggled and she swept him up into a hug. “Goodness, you’re almost to big for me to hold, Rumple!”

The boy giggled, his floofy hair sticking up. “I don’t think I’ll ever be all that big, Mama.”

“Whatever size you are, you’ll always be just right for me, dearie!” Aimee said, and kissed his forehead. “Now shall we see what Mr. Kringle brought you first? Or Master Bey?”

“Master Bey gave me a Yule gift?” Rumple said. “But I haven’t given him mine yet!” He had made his master a rather inexpertly carved wolf charm strung on a piece of braided rawhide.

“Well, he must have sent these over by magic this morning,” Aimee said, and handed him his package, which was wrapped in green paper tied with a gold ribbon and had the following message— _Rumple, Happy Yule and know that what’s inside here was made especially for you by an old friend of mine, the elf Silk. I hope they fit. Your friend, Bey._

Rumple opened it to find a pair of shiny leather half-boots, and one was with a special sole that was higher than the other. They were made of butter soft leather and had soft laces and came with a pair of light soft blue socks and a pair of leather pants sized for a child. “Mama, look! Master Bey, he told me about his friend, Silk the shoemaker elf, and he-he made me _shoes_! One that might even fit my lame foot.”

“Oh!” Aimee gasped, for she knew well the trials her son endured because of his lame foot, twisted since birth. That Bey cared enough for her son to give him such a gift . . .she had no words to express her gratitude. “Try them on, Rumple,” she urged.

The little boy sat down and put on the pants, socks, and finally the shoes. It was a little awkward getting the shoe on his crippled foot at first, and Aimee helped him, but once the boots were laced and she helped Rumple stand up, she asked, “How-how do they feel?”

Rumple took a step . . .then another . . .without his cane. He was a bit wobbily but . . .”Mama, I can walk! I can walk without my crutch!”

He still limped, but his foot was able to bear most of his weight, and he could walk, not perfectly, but without his walking stick.

He walked across the kitchen, then tried to hurry into the living room to see what was in his stocking, and moved a bit too fast and stumbled and fell to the floor. “Oops! Tripped.”

“Rumple! Are you all right?” Aimee gasped and ran over.

“M’fine, Mama,” he said, and got to his feet and gave his backside a token rub before he said, “Guess I can’t go too fast yet.”

“Be careful, son,” Aimee said, watching with tears of pride as her son ran-after a fashion-across the room and to his stocking.

Inside he found another red Avarian pear, a bar of chocolate, and a velvety soft blue stuffed cat. “Look!” he shrilled. “Mr. Kringle brought me a blue cat to sleep with.” He hugged the soft squishy toy to him.

Then he saw something else beside the hearth, with a big red bow on it, and his eyes went wide.

“My own spinning wheel!”

For it was sized especially for a child of Rumple’s size, and made of fine oak and carved beautifully. On one side of the bench was burned a stylized “R”.

Rumple ran his hands over the fine wheel, almost unable to believe it was really there. He raised his eyes to see his mama and both aunts watching him, their eyes shining with joy.

His aunt Claude came and handed him some unspun wool and said, “Let’s try her out, Rumple.”

Rumple sat down and took the unspun wool and set it on the wheel like he’d seen his aunts do and then he pumped the treadle with his foot—his bad one at that—and as the wheel whirred, he spun his first thread.

It was a little lumpy but all the spinners praised him and he spun some more wool, his eyes shining, not realizing he had taken the first steps along the pathway to his true destiny.

Aimee then went to open her own gift from Bey, and found the fragrant pie inside, with a note saying that he had made this because it was his favorite treat at Yule in his country.

“Aimee, you must go and invite that man for supper,” Lauren said.

“Oh, but . . .” she blushed red as a rose.

“You must!” Claudette insisted. “After what he’s done for Rumple alone, the least he deserves is a nice holiday supper for the first day of Yule!”

“Go on, Aimee, for once do the bold thing, sparrow, and invite him here,” Lauren urged.

Her sister tilted her head. “I don’t see you inviting a certain man in red pants here!”

Lauren almost choked on her tea. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Lord of Yule . . . is busy . . .and well, that’s my business. Now you go and take Master Starfall that basket and invite him to supper this instant, Aimee Spinner, or shall I get out my broom to help you on your way?”

Aimee glared at her. “Oh indeed? You may be the eldest but I can still—”

“Oh quit procrastinating and go!” Claudette smirked. “You know you want to.”

So Aimee went and got her warm cloak and shawl and gloves and hurried down the path to Bey’s cottage near the schoolhouse, the basket with a bright green bow on her arm. Her heart was beating an uneven rhythm in her chest.

On her way there she passed several other homes and heard cries of dismay and wailing from certain ones, and Aimee hid a grin. Apparently several children had been naughty and had gotten coal and switches for their Yule gift, just as Kris had promised. Some of the howling was coming from Felix and George’s cottages and high shrieks of “I wanna pearl necklace!” was coming from the Peep cottage and sobbing was also coming from the Miller house.

 _Serves them right!_ Aimee thought and soon she had reached Bey’s cottage with the purple trim. She saw smoke coming from the chimney and knocked on the violet door with the odd magical symbols.

Bey opened the door, still in his shirtsleeve _s_ and a pair of dark leather pants. “Hello! Aimee! What are you—?” He began in astonishment.

Then Aimee Spinner, normally shy and retiring, leaned in and kissed the former Dark One full on the mouth!

A shocked Bey pulled her half into his house, while behind him Nyx opened her mouth in a lupine grin.

Before he could stop himself, he found he was kissing her back, one long kiss of welcome such as he had never given any woman in his life. And he felt, for the first time ever, the stirrings of desire within him.

“ _That’s_ for what you did for Rumple,” Aimee said. “And this is from me, Happy Yule, Bey!” she handed him the basket.

“I . . .thank you! I guess you liked my pie,” he stammered.

“I did, but I won’t eat it unless you also accept my invitation to supper,” she declared, trying to be bold for once.

“Oh, really, dearie! Well, I can’t have it go to waste, can I?” he chuckled, his violet eyes glowing. “I accept, and this is a lovely basket.”

Aimee began to describe all the salves in the basket, most of which he was familiar with, and afterwards, he said, “How is Rumple? Do the shoes fit? I tried to give Silk the exact measurements.”

“Oh, come and see for yourself!” Aimee laughed. “Don’t hide like a hermit here, Bey! It’s Yule.”

“So it is,” he smiled, and then he pulled on his great cloak took Aimee’s arm and escorted her back to her cottage, with Nyx following sedately.

When they reached the cottage, Aime threw open the door and Bey stepped inside to see his protégé spinning on his new wheel, wearing his new boots, and he smiled and said, “Happy Yule, Rumple, lad!”

“Master Bey!” Rumple cheered, and then he ran across the floor into the magician’s arms, to be held close as Bey picked him up and swung him about in the air, the way his royal father used to do, and the boy’s giggle and the man’s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumple's gift of a blue cat was based upon the same gift a young Robert Carlyle recieved as a child.


	10. Self Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All kinds of bullies are dealt with in this chapter

The end of the Yule season brought an unexpected gift for Lauren from Kris . . . a gorgeous red velvet cape with snowy ermine fur around the collar and hem, that covered her from head to foot, and when put on enabled her to glide about the yard as if she wore snowshoes and kept her warm in the frozen temperatures. Kris left a note with it.

_My dearest Lauren,_

_I hope you don't consider me forward, but I felt I needed to give you something to celebrate the season, and this cloak-one of my magical experiments—seemed fitting. It is enchanted so it will keep you warm in the depths of the worst blizzard, enable you to walk atop snow and ice, and even use the arctic gale to fly if necessary for two hours._

_It is thanks to your nephew and his little friend that I am able to continue my duties as Yule Lord and have met you._

_May the hope and joy of the season be upon you and yours, Miss Spinner, and may I call upon you again at a more auspicious time?_

_Sincerely,_

_Kris Kringle_

Claudette giggled like a schoolgirl and danced around the room, chanting, "Lauren has a beau! Lauren has a beau! And what a beau he is! A Fae Lord!"

"Oh, will you _stop_?" her elder sister threw a dishcloth at the capering Seer. "He's not my beau! He's just being kind."

Aimee raised an eyebrow. "Really, dearie? Kind would have been leaving you a box of chocolates or a fruitcake . . . _not_ an expensive magical cloak. _That_ is a courting gift, Lauren Valcourt."

Lauren blushed nearly as red as the velvet cloak.

"If you're courting, Aunt Lauren, does that mean you're gonna kiss him?" Rumple asked curiously from where he was spinning on the hearth. "Like on the lips?"

"Rumplestiltskin!" Lauren gasped. "What kind of question is that, boy?"

"One I wanna know the answer to," her nephew replied honestly.

"Curiosity killed the cat!" his aunt retorted, still blushing.

"Satisfaction brought it back!" Rumple singsonged.

"Imp!" Lauren scolded.

"He's a child," Aimee said. Then she replied, "Rumple, if your aunt does decide to accept Mr. Kringle's suit, then yes they may kiss-discreetly upon parting. But it's not good manners to do so more than that unless you're betrothed, like with a promise of marriage."

"You gonna marry him?" was the boy's next frank question.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Lauren snorted. "Me, the bride of a Fae Lord? Only in your dreams!" But she had to admit the prospect made her giddy. Though of course it could never come true. The lords married their own kind . . . not humble merchants' daughters with hearth witch skills.

"You never know," Claudette grinned slyly. "Love makes the world go round."

Lauren rolled her eyes. "Love makes your head go around, sister."

Aimee gave her sister an understanding smile. "Not all men are like Pierre, Lauren. And Mr. Kringle . . .would have no need to play games with you. He doesn't seem to be that sort, not like his forest kin."

"Humph! We'll see," Lauren said briskly. "I'll write him back with a date . . . and we'll see if he'll show." But for all her abrupt expression, her hand caressed the lovely cloak repeatedly. It smelled oddly of pine needles and wintergreen berries. "Not all men are like your Master Starfall, Aimee."

"He's hardly that," Aimee protested. "He's . . .simply good natured and kind to Rumple."

Rumple nodded. "Master Starfall is the best!" he patted his new boot on his crippled foot.

"And he came over for dinner at your request," Lauren teased. "So now who has a beau?"

Aimee looked slightly shy. "If . . .if he wishes it . . . that's fine with me. Although what he sees in plain old me is quite a conundrum." She ran a hand through her curly hair.

"You're beautiful, Mama," Rumple said stoutly. "An' you cook better n' anybody an' are smarter than any lady in Hearthstone."

"Rumple, you're a love, dearie!" Aimee said and hugged her son.

"And he's right. Three things that are guaranteed to win a man's heart," Claudette said. "Provided the man isn't afraid of a woman with brains."

"Most of them are, dearie," sighed Lauren. "That's always the problem."

"I don't think Bey is," murmured Aimee. "He's said many times he likes to debate with me, though there's precious little to debate here."

"Bey says a smart woman who knows her own mind is rarer than gold," Rumple piped up again.

"So's a smart man," Claudette laughed, then she tousled her nephew's head. "You grow up to be a smart man, Rumple, and do us proud."

"I will," the child vowed. "An' a spinner an' a sorcerer too."

"You can be whatever you wish," Aimee told him.

The boy looked at his foot. "'Cept a soldier. But I don't wanna be one anyhow. Soldiers die a lot. But sorcerers can live a long time. Almost forever."

"If you're meant to, then you will be," his mother said serenely.

She went to see how he was coming with his spinning and said, "How wonderful, Rumple! Your thread is nearly even this time."

She was amazed at his proficiency after a mere four days at the wheel. He was truly a marvel.

"Is it really good?" he asked uncertainly.

"For you just beginning, lad?" Claudette came and examined it. "It's better than good. You're a Valcourt, Rumple. You have the spinner's knack."

Lauren also examined it. "Your aunt is right. You have the talent, dearie. Keep practicing and you'll be just as good as any of us soon, maybe better."

The child looked as if he had been given a tremendous gift, which indeed he had, the love of his family and support. He returned to his wheel and spun happily until supper, where he quickly washed his hands and sat down to eat Aimee's luscious shepherd's pie and homemade bread with butter.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

The next day Rumple visited Belle at her house, excited to show her his new footwear and tell her about the special cape that Mr. Kringle had brought his Aunt Lauren. Belle was helping Elena bake some Yule shortbreads. She looked up when Rumple came into the cottage, not bothering to knock as he had a standing invitation to come over whenever he wished, smudges of flour all over her snub nose and chin.

"Hi, Rumple! Mama and I are makin' shortbreads! Wanna help?" his friend greeted.

The boy smiled. "I can. But Belle, lookit my new shoes," he displayed the boots Silk had made proudly. "Now I can walk without my cane. I walked all the way here without it."

Belle slid down from the little stool and came to examine the boots. "Oh! That's so . . .incredible! Where did you get them?"

"From Master Bey."

"Master Bey left me something incredible too!" Belle said, and she showed Rumple her _Once Upon a Time_ book where the stories came alive and acted themselves out in front of them.

"Whoa!" Rumple exclaimed, his eyes huge in his little face. "A magic book!"

"Isn't it neat?" Belle said, her eyes shining happily. "We can read it later, after we help Mama." She shut the book and set it on the little table where her new tea set rested.

The two friends went and helped Elena put shortbread dough into the special Yule shortbread pans, which had imprints of holiday mistletoe on the bottom and also thistles, which would imprint themselves upon the shortbread.

"How long will they take to bake?" Rumple asked.

"Oh they ought to be done in about half an hour or so," Elena smiled. "I'll call you when they're ready and you and Belle can have them with tea."

"Now let's read the magic storybook!" Belle said eagerly, and dragged Rumple over to the tea table. "You pick the story we're gonna read . . err . . . see."

Rumple took the book and read the list of stories. "How about this one? _Beauty and the Beast_."

They opened the page to the appropriate story and watched in breathless awe as the characters of Alina, her sisters Mary and Lisa, their papa and the Beast appeared and the book began talking, narrating the tale and then the characters began to play their parts.

Rumple and Belle happily sat entranced as the story played itself out, delighted by this enchanted retelling of a maiden, a beast who had once been a man, and the family that had brought them together and then threatened to keep them apart. It was a story of hope, of seeing beyond appearances, and learning how the heart always saw true.

Maurice came in from his workshop and sniffed the air. "Is that shortbread I smell?"

He was almost salivating at the glorious smell.

"Yes, my love. Soon they will be done and we can have tea." Elena assured him. "Now go wash up."

"All right. Don't want to get wood shavings and grease on the table," the inventor said and went to wash up by the wash basin.

When he came out, he saw Rumple and said, "Are you having a merry Yule, Rumple?"

"Hi, Mr. Maurice!" Rumple greeted him. "It's been the best Yule ever, cause I have these!" He showed Maurice his boots.

"That's splendid, Rumple!" the inventor said. He was happy for the boy, knowing how the child was mocked for his lameness. "And I see you've discovered Belle's enchanted storybook. Is it not a marvel?"

"Uh huh. I've never see anything like it."

"Master Bey said it comes from Avaria and the Librarian's Guild make them," Belle said, and showed him the card explaining about the book that Bey had written.

"Master Bey knows a bunch of things," Rumple said with hero-worship in his voice. He admired the glyphmaster with all of the love a son did a father, and he wished that Bey and Aimee could get together.

"One of these days I'm gonna have to ask him a few things about air pressure and lift," Maurice mused.

"Papa, are you gonna build your flying machine?" Belle asked eagerly.

"A flying machine?" Rumple repeated.

"Papa is gonna make one that a person can fly in," Belle explained.

"You mean, I'm _trying_ to make one, _ma petit,_ " corrected her papa. "Haven't succeeded yet. But perhaps Master Starfall could assist me."

"I think so," Rumple nodded.

Soon the shortbreads were cool enough to eat and Elena had made tea for all and they happily took tea with cookies, Belle and Rumple at the small table and the two adults at the kitchen table.

After the delicious snack, Belle and Rumple ran outside to play in the snow.

They built a snowcastle, the frozen twin to a sandcastle, and then had fun throwing snowballs at each other and ducking behind the trees and Elena's rosebushes to hide from each other.

Red cheeked and breathless, Belle paused and said, "What shall we built next, Rumple?"

Rumple thought. "How about a snow kitty?"

"Yes!" Belle cheered and then began to roll a snowball for the body while Rumple made the head.

They were trying to put the tail on, made from a scrap of ribbon from Elena's sewing basket, when Felix and George happened by and saw them.

"Well, if isn't the teacher's pets—Rumple Retard and Beastly Belle!" George brayed.

"Whatcha doing, losers?" taunted Felix.

Rumple ignored him, fixing the cat's ears.

Belle flashed them a look of supreme annoyance. "What's it look like, Felix the Farthead?"

"Looks like you're gonna need to start over!" George cried, then he went and kicked the snow cat, breaking it into pieces.

Felix laughed cruelly, then shoved Belle, making her stumble backwards and land on her backside in the snow. "Whoops! Can't you even stand up right, clumsy? Or are you like the cripple over here?"

Rumple turned around then, furious. "Leave her alone, you filthy fungus infested pile of dog crap."

The bigger boy smirked evilly. "Whyn't you make me, chicken liver? Bock! Bock!" he flapped his arms like a chicken. "Crippled chicken Stiltskin, can't scare me! Too yellow and scared, a bastard he be! Run away, Rumple, 'fore I beat you for lookin' at me!"

But Rumple, bolstered by his new footwear and also the lessons he'd been learning from Master Bey, did not cringe and back away as he had before. Instead he stood up tall and said, "Careful, dearie. Or else you might be getting a beating."

George burst out laughing. "That'll be the day, hobblefoot gimp!"

Belle stood up, brushed off the snow, and said in an eerie voice, " _Someday the one you tease and mock shall be your better . . .so be careful what you say, or else your words shall come back and make you eat them."_

"Shut up, Batty Belle!" yelled Felix, his hair standing on end. The small girl really creeped him out when she got like that. Then he figured if he could shut her up, whatever she'd Seen wouldn't come to pass. So he reached down and picked up an ice ball on the frozen ground and threw it at her head.

Belle was trying to fix the snow kitty and never saw it coming.

Felix was an excellent thrower, and the missile hit the girl dead center in the head.

"Uhhh!" she cried before toppling over to lie still on the frozen ground.

The two boys cracked up laughing.

"Belle!" Rumple cried, horrified. He knelt and tried to see if she were all right, but she was still . . .and a trickle of blood marred the snow.

"Maybe that knocked the bats from her belfry, Felix!" George hooted.

"Least she won't babble anymore Seer trash," the other said smugly.

Rumple stood up, a fierce rage burning within him. He longed to use his nascent magic and bury the two snickering wretches under an avalanche, but he didn't know how, and he also recalled Master Bey's injunction to never ever use magic unless he was there to supervise, because all magic came with a price.

"You _hurt_ Belle!" he cried furiously. "She's bleeding!"

"Boo hoo!" George sneered and mimed wiping tears from his eyes. "Whyn't you cry about it, you big baby?"

"Yeah that's 'bout all you can do, isn't it, Rumple Reject?" Felix laughed. "Cause you're a wimpy bastard that not even your own father loved! Coward crybaby!"

"And you're a fat bragging bully!" Rumple cried, incensed. "Who picks on girls!"

"She deserved it!" George cried. "Just like you deserve this!" And he went to push Rumple into the snow.

But Rumple had been watching the other boy closely and he pivoted on his good leg like Bey had shown him, avoiding the other's rush.

George's hands met only empty air and he stumbled. "Hey!"

Rumple saw an opportunity and he lifted his bad foot and stuck it between George's legs, tripping him.

As the boy fell into the snow, Rumple turned and got Felix's snowball in the eye.

"Eat that, chicken liver!"

"No, you eat _this_!" Rumple shouted, and he flicked his hand up, palm out and smacked the other's nose hard.

Blood spurted and Felix howled.

"Oww! My nose!"

"How'd _you_ like it?" Rumple demanded, his eyes glowing with wrath.

Felix lunged at him, intending to tackle him into the snowbank, but Rumple doubled his fist and slammed him one right in the teeth.

The other boy stumbled backwards, waling loudly as his lip split and a tooth was knocked out on the ground.

George stared in shock at the smaller boy, trying to figure out if this really were the cripple they'd picked on.

Then he looked at his friend, who was screaming like he'd lost a limb and something akin to fear crept into his bullying heart.

Upon hearing the ruckus, Maurice came out of the house. "What by all that's holy is going on out here?"

George immediately pointed at Rumple. "He started it! Look what he did to Felix!"

Maurice stared at the bigger boy dripping blood all over and then at Rumple. "Rumple, why would you—?" he began, then he saw his daughter lying there in the snow. "Belle! Good gods!" He rushed to the stricken girl and picked her up in his arms, noting the bruise and cut on her forehead. "Who did this?" he demanded roughly.

"Felix did. That's why I knocked his teeth in," Rumple said.

Maurice glowered at the still sobbing boy. "You hurt my little girl, you little scoundrel?"

"I-I didn't mean to!" wailed Felix.

"Did so! You threw an iceball at her and then you laughed when she fell down!" Rumple accused.

"I think I'm dying!" blubbered Felix, and burst into noisy tears.

"Put snow on it," Maurice said bluntly. "That'll stop the bleeding. And you're lucky that's all you got, because if Belle weren't hurt, I'd take a switch to your backside, boy!" Then he stormed inside, carrying the comatose Belle.

George backed away from Rumple and helped Felix hold a cold snow pack to his face. "Just you wait, Rumplestiltskin! We're telling what you did!"

"Then you'll be a tattle tale baby!" Rumple snapped, then he too went inside, leaving the other two boys to slowly limp back home.

Maurice had placed Belle on the small sofa and Elena was gently sponging the blood from her face with a damp cloth.

"Is Belle gonna be all right?" Rumple asked worriedly.

"I hope so," Elena fretted. "Maurice bring me some snow in a towel."

As Maurice went to do as he'd been told, Rumple said, "Maybe I should get my Mama or aunts?"

"Please would you, Rumple?" Elena said gratefully. She was good with small everyday hurts, but something like this she needed someone more experienced with healing.

"I'll be back," Rumple said, and he half-ran out of the cottage, and down the street to his own house, concern for his best friend outweighing the scolding he was sure to get once this crisis was over.

Felix and George were already gone, probably home to tell their parents lies about how they had been "unjustly" attacked by Rumple . . .or maybe not because why would they want to risk having it known they'd been bested by the town coward's crippled son? It would totally ruin their reputation as the biggest bullies in Hearthstone.

When he arrived, panting, back at his house, he found Aimee and Bey sitting and having some lunch. "Mama! Mama, you gotta come over Belle's house!" he cried, almost gasping for breath.

"Why? Rumple, what's happened?"

"That bully Felix came over when we were making a snow kitty in the yard and he smashed it and called us names and pushed Belle and when she got up she had a Vision and then he threw an iceball and hit her in the head and knocked her out! She was bleeding all over the snow!"

"Good flaming gods!" Bey swore, then coughed and stood up.

Aimee went pale as the snow, then her mouth firmed. She summoned her bag of simples, which no good herb witch went without, and said, "Come on then, lad. Let's see what we can do. Hopefully it's not too bad. But head injuries are tricky."

Bey held out a hand. "Wait. I can get you there quicker. With magic."

Aimee looked at him. "How?"

"Hold on to me," the glyphmaster replied.

As Aimee took his wrist, he lifted Rumple in the other arm. Then he traced a glowing purple glyph in the air and muttered, "Silver path, Avignon cottage."

The glyph flared brilliant lavender and then the three were whisked upon the wings of magic to Maurice's front door.

"Neat!" Rumple grinned at his mentor as Bey set him down.

Aimee was already making her way into the cottage, and Bey looked at his small apprentice and said, "So what happened to George and Felix after they knocked Belle out?"

He had a feeling there was more to the story than Rumple had told him, and he was right.

"Umm . . .I gave Felix a bloody nose and a fat lip and I knocked out his tooth using the Dragon's Bite you taught me," the boy admitted. "I got mad because they didn't care they hurt Belle, Master Bey. They were laughing and saying she deserved it 'cause she had a Vision and they didn't like it."

The master assassin sighed. Then he knelt and said, "Rumple, you did a good thing trying to protect your friend. But what have I said about fighting when you're angry?"

"Never strike in anger. Anger clouds your judgment and makes you vulnerable," the boy recited.

"Yes. And though I've taught you how to defend yourself, what else did I tell you never to do?"

"Umm . . .never use the attack forms unless I'm in danger of my life," the child repeated.

"Right. And while Felix is a nasty little snipe, I doubt if he was going to threaten your life," Bey remonstrated. "And you could have used another form to knock him on his backside and not risk killing him. Because those attack forms are designed to do what?"

"Kill people," Rumple said, ashamed.

"Exactly. And I don't want you to become a murderer at six years old," Bey scolded. "So what should you have done when those boys showed up?"

"Umm . . .walked away or got Mr. Avignon."

"Right. Why?"

"Because the best fight is one you can walk away from."

Bey nodded in approval. "Remember that next time, Rumple. Discipline and control before all else."

"I will. I'm sorry, Master Bey." The boy hung his head, near tears for he hated disappointing the man he admired.

"I forgive you. Just try not to do that again." Bey's hand mussed the boy's floofy hair. "And at least you didn't use magic. So that's a good thing. Come on, let's see how your mama and Belle are doing." He knew some might have thought it strange that a master assassin was giving his apprentice lectures on harming people, but the fact was the Dagger caste were not mere bullying thugs, they were trained secret weapons and they had their own codes they followed. And no Dagger, even an apprentice, killed needlessly. They killed upon order of the king, or when a deal was struck with a client, but never until then. Others assumed differently, but those of the caste knew the truth.

They entered the cottage and found Aimee holding another snow pack to the unconscious Belle's head and saying, "The snow will help the swelling go down, and this tincture here is for pain, it has willowbark to help with swelling and this one is to help mend her head. My Talent says there's no true damage to her brain and she should wake in a few hours. I want you to monitor her carefully though. She may have headaches for a few days, blurry vision, and be dizzy or queasy, so give her tea, toast, and chicken broth until her stomach settles, then soup with lots of vegetables and meat. Call me if she doesn't wake or if you need anything else."

Rumple ran up and looked at his friend anxiously. Belle looked so pale and drawn lying there on the blue sofa, her hair spread over the arm, a dark splash against the white pillow. Her eyes were closed and the purple and green bruise on her forehead seemed grotesque. There was a small cut in the center of the lump where the iceball had cut her.

"Mama, will she be okay?"

"I believe so, Rumple. She was lucky the iceball hit her where it did. Otherwise she could have lost an eye or worse," Aimee said.

"She has to get better," Rumple muttered, heartsick.

"She will," Maurice said. "And I'll be having words with that boy's parents. Little scalawag throwing ice at my girl in her own yard!" The inventor looked angry enough to punch someone.

Bey couldn't blame him. He would have been raging if someone had dared to hurt his baby girl. Which was why maybe it was a good idea the gods had never seen fit to bless him with children like ordinary men.

"I punched him a good one though, so maybe he'll stop hurting us," Rumple put in before he could think better of it.

"I know. I saw the fat lip and the bloody nose you gave the brat," Maurice said approvingly.

"Rumplestiltskin!" Aimee groaned. "What have I told you about fighting?"

"Not to. And to get an adult," he recited softly, looking at his boots. "I forgot. I was so mad."

"Next time they come around, walk away and get an adult," Aimee told him.

"Yes, Mama."

"Come on. We need to get home and get supper started. Elena, call me if you need to," Aimee said.

"We will, thank you again, Aimee," Elena took the snow pack from her and continued holding it to Belle's head.

Bey teleported them back home, where Aimee promptly invited him for supper.

Neither Lauren or Claudette were surprised when they came home from the shop and saw Bey at the kitchen table, eating beef stew, bread, and a green salad.

The two sisters hid knowing grins and sat down beside him, listening as Rumple and Aimee told them what had happened that day.

A few hours later, Belle opened her eyes and sat up. Her head ached and she was slightly woozy. "Mama? Papa?" she asked, lifting a hand to her now bandaged head.

"Belle, you're awake!" exclaimed Maurice, his voice nearly cracking with relief. "How's your head?"

"Uh . . .I feel a little achy. But I'm thirsty."

"Here's some water, little one," Elena brought her a small cup. "Do you know where you are?"

"Huh? M'home," Belle said, puzzled.

"Do you remember what happened?" queried her father.

"Uh huh. Felix threw a iceball at me and hit me in the head. Where's Rumple?"

"He's at home, _ma petite_ ," Elena said. "Now how would you like some broth and bread?"

When Belle nodded eagerly, she went into the kitchen to spoon some up, and her tears watered the dishcloth in relief that Belle would be all right, thanks to Aimee's knowledge of herbal remedies. She was also grateful to Rumple, because though she didn't really approve of boys scrapping, anyone who defended Belle was a hero in her eyes.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

By market day Belle was bored stiff of staying home and delighted to go with her mama to sell their homemade rose petal jam, quilts, and hair ribbons. She knew that the Spinners would be there and that meant Rumple would also.

Her head no longer ached and she was happy she didn't have to stay in bed or drink any more willowbark tea, though her head was still bandaged and Elena put salve on it and with that and the snow packs the bump and swelling had gone down considerably in three days. Elena had her dress warmly in her good blue woolen frock with the sheepskin cuffs and hem, and wear her deep blue cape with its hood, mittens and colorful rainbow scarf Elena had made for her. She also had her soft sheepskin boots that came up to her knees and thick winter stockings.

She helped Elena set up her stand and then squealed happily when she saw Rumple, Aimee, and Claudette coming to set up their stand as well with their wares—thread, cloth, scarves, mittens, shawls, and Aimee's cold remedy tea.

"Rumple! How you doin'?"

Her friend smiled joyfully at her. He too was bundled up in a caramel colored sheepskin coat with a fur hood, woolen trews and his boots. He had red mittens on and a gold and red striped scarf. His little nose was slightly red from the cold but his brown eyes sparkled and stray wisps of his hair poked out from beneath his hood.

"I'm good. How's your head? Is it better?"

"Uh huh. Mama says it's thanks to your mama's potions, but I don't like that willowbark one." She made a face. "Yuck!"

"Yeah, I don't like that either," Rumple agreed, grimacing also. "But I'm glad you're better. You wanna get some hot cider and beignets?" Beignets were fried dough sprinkled with sugar and treats made only on market day from Baker Louise Frollo.

"Yes. Lemme ask Mama for some money." Belle shouted, and soon returned with some pennies for both of them.

They bought three beignets and two cups of hot mulled cider. One for each of them and the third they would share. They had two more pennies left to get two extra cups of cider.

They sat on sled inbetween the two stands, sipping the cider and eating their beignets quietly while around them the market came to life, and people hustled and bustled and bargained. Rumple told Belle how he had beaten up Felix and his subsequent scoldings for his improper use of the fighting techniques Master Bey had taught him from both their teacher and Aimee.

"Papa went and told Felix's papa, Peter, about what he did," Belle related. "But Felix lied and said he never touched me. And his papa told mine to go away and quit telling lies. Papa was so mad, but there wasn't anything he could do . . .unless he wanted to punch Master Peter out and Mama woulda had his head for getting into a fight with an idiot, so he came home."

Rumple sighed and bit into his beignet. "That's cause Felix is a coward and can't fess up to his responsibilities."

"And he don't want people to know you beat him up either," Belle said, her azure eyes shining. She squeezed Rumple's hand with her own, getting sticky sugar on it, but no one minded.

"Yeah. I know. And I shouldn't really be glad I did but . . .I am," he whispered into her ear.

"Me too," she whispered back. "I hope my Vision comes true."

"Your last ones did," he reminded her. Awful Bo and Cora had gotten lice and Felix and George had gotten sick from eating too many stolen apples from Farmer Gray's orchard. "Maybe this one will too."

"Mistress Claude says sometimes Visions come true and sometimes they don't. Only the gods can decide what way fate shall blow," Belle said, repeating something her teacher in the Sight, who was Rumple's aunt, had said. She had begun lessons with her at the start of Yule, and practiced with her every week on Mondays and Tuesdays.

Rumple licked sugar off his fingers and said, "Aunt Lauren's not here today cause she went out walking with Mr. Kringle. He came and picked her up in his sleigh with his reindeer and they flew off somewhere."

"Oh! Did you get to pet the magic reindeer?" Belle asked, her face alight with longing.

"Yeah I touched Comet's nose," Rumple said. The eight reindeer that pulled Mr. Kringle's sleigh were called Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, Vixen, Prancer, Dasher, and Dancer. "He licked the carrot from my hand."

"I wish I could pet one! You're lucky, Rumple!" Belle said, feeling a trifle envious.

"Maybe you can when they come back, if you're over my house," Rumple said.

"Maybe I could stay over," Belle said. "I'll go and ask my mama later."

It was a long morning, and by the middle of it, Rumple and Belle were tired of sitting and got up to run around the small snow covered green.

Luckily they didn't see Felix or George there, only a few other classmates from school who didn't bother them and a few exclaimed over Rumple's walking without his stick.

Meanwhile, the blacksmith Gervase was ambling through the market, having stopped at the ale booth a few stalls down and had a few, and was now smoking a cigar while he perused the rest of the market, his beefy shoulders nearly bursting the seams of his soot-stained tunic, as he hadn't bothered to change it when he left his forge. Gervase had long black hair that he pulled back in a careless knot and his face was roughened from wind and sun and exposure to the forge's heat. Yet despite that he was reckoned a handsome catch by the unwed villager girls, his wife having passed away years ago when his son was small, and people hardly remembered her now, a wispy thing that barely said two words and lived in her husband's long shadow.

Gervase was a decent smith, but his temper left something to be desired. He was fond of drinking and wenching though, and had taught his son, Gaston, the same values. At thirteen, Gaston was well on his way to becoming a large man like his father, and also had started turning lasses heads.

Several woman sighed as Gervase went by, remarking in titters and whispers over how brawny and manly he was, with his shoulders like a prize ram's. Gervase preened.

Then he caught sight of Aimee Spinner, standing by her stall, and an odd hungry light came into his eyes, almost like that of a hunter when stalking his prey. Everyone knew the Spinner sisters, spinsters and some said witches, Gervase disliked Lauren, but the witchy sister was absent today and only slightly plump Aimee was there. Time, he thought wickedly, to have some fun.

He sauntered over to the Spinner's booth. "Good day, Mistress. How goes the thread business?" he asked with a practiced leer.

Aimee's eyes began to water because of the cigar smoke, and she struggled valiantly to not cough. "Well enough, Gervase. Would you mind putting that out?"

Gervase simply tapped the ash on the stall end and held it a bit lower, as Aimee began coughing, he got a rather unintended view of her cleavage. "My apologies. You must be thirsty, would you care for an ale?"

Aimee wiped her eyes on her handkerchief and sought to keep the disgust from her face. As if she would ever consent to have a drink with this unmannered boor . . .and she didn't even drink spirits! "No, I'm sorry," she said politely. "I'm running the booth till my sister comes back so I must decline."

"You could always just close up shop for a bit," he suggested, his eyes roaming down her figure. Why had he never noticed her before?

He waited for her capitulation and awe that he was actually paying her some attention, the dried up old maid.

"No, I'm afraid not," she declined again.

"But you have no customers, so surely you can take a break," he argued, not quite believing she was actually refusing to walk with him.

 _I have no customers cause you've driven them away with that awful smoke!_ She thought angrily. "Would you like to buy some thread, Gervase?" she asked with sweet biting sarcasm. "Seems to me you could use some, your tunic's fraying."

He flushed slightly at the implication then recovered and said, "That's because they don't make the thread strong enough to support my manly frame." He swelled his chest and flexed his muscles. There, now let her appreciate him! A seam popped.

Aimee feared she would be ill. Gervase reminded her of a prize bull, snorting and parading for the cows. She shoved a sturdy brown thread at him. "How about this one? It should suit you."

Gervase leaned over the booth, knocking several spools over, and leered, "You'd suit me better, little pullet! Now how's about we go somewhere more private?"

Aimee was incensed. "Are you . . . _propositioning_ me, you ill mannered boor?" she sputtered. How dare he!

Gervase thought a boar was a fine comparison, and as for manners, who cared? "C'mon, chickadee, let your hair down and have some fun! I'll bet you haven't had an offer like this in years."

 _That_ was certainly true! "Get out and go bother your tarts down at the tavern! I'm not interested!"

"Only cause you don't know what you're missing, _Cherie,_ " Gervase growled, and then he reached out and kissed her.

Horrified, Aimee struggled free and slapped him across the face with all her might.

Gervase blinked and muttered, "Hey! You wench! You asked for it!"

He went to reach for her again, this time intent upon teaching the little snip respect for her betters.

Aimee reached under the counter for a certain pouch of very strong hot pepper grounds, which would deter even a charging boar once she threw it in his face, but before she could open the pouch, a familiar voice said, "Where I come from, if a lady says no, it's no."

Bey grabbed the bull-like man's arm and spun him about, pulling him away from Aimee.

Gervase dropped his cigar and snarled, "Mind your business, you crippled ol dog!"

Bey's eyebrow rose. "How original. Did you spend all night thinking that one up? Must have. Leave her alone, your attentions are as unwanted as a dog sniffing up a lady's skirt."

Gervase glared at the smaller man. "This doesn't concern you. Move along!"

Bey rocked slightly back on his heels, unconsciously positioning himself for a fight. "Oh, it does. A man bullying a woman always concerns me."

"Then take your concern elsewhere!" Gervase told him bluntly. "This's a private conversation!"

"You call accosting a lady in the middle of the market private? Were you raised in a byre?" sneered Bey.

"But out, Starfall! Before I make you!" Gervase flexed his muscles warningly.

Bey's lip curled. "Leave Mistress Spinner be and walk away and there won't be a need for me to call a healer."

Gervase laughed mockingly. " _You're_ gonna be the one in need of a healer, pipsqueak! You broken-winged chicken!"

Rumple looked over to see what was going on, and gasped when he saw Gervase, a man universally hated and feared by the village children, confronting Bey. "Belle, look!"

Belle's eyes grew round. "Rumple, Master Bey can't fight Gervase! He'll make mincemeat outta him like he did to Jim Tanner."

"Master Bey can fight," Rumple disagreed.

"Not against Gervase with one arm."

Rumple did have to admit the two were unequally matched, but he trusted his hero would be able to take the lumbering smith, if it came down to it.

Bey tapped a foot on the ground, looking unconcerned. "Trust me, smith. You don't want to do this. Now just walk away and soak your head. The ale is clouding it."

But Gervase's blood was up and no way in hell was he going to be told what to do by this crippled soldier. "I go where I want and do what I please!"

"That's your choice," the former Dark One replied calmly. "But all choices have consequences. And you might not like them."

Gervase shook his head, rather like a mad bull. "I'll give you a consequence, you interfering dickless cripple!" Then he lunged at Bey, swinging his huge fist in a roundhouse.

Aimee longed to curse the lumbering ox, sure Bey was going to get splattered all over the ground. Oh how she detested bullies like the smith!

But to several watchers astonishment, the smith's punch met only empty air.

Bey simply glided away, like a leaf on the breeze.

"Huh?" Gervase was puzzled and spun around to see the smaller man standing there, seemingly unaffected by what should have been a devastating blow, had it connected.

"One last time. Walk away," Bey warned, and in his speech now was an icy cold menace.

"From you? Like hell!" Gervase swung again two rapid blows that made the air whistle.

They would have knocked Bey out if they had landed.

But once again the master assassin dodged the clumsy blows and grabbed Gervase by an arm and literally flung him through the air. The smith landed on the ground with a thud that shook the nearby stalls.

People gasped.

Bey spun on the balls of his feet, his violet eyes hard. "Your funeral, idiot. Get up."

Aimee watched with her hand over her heart, still afraid Bey was going to end up beaten to a pulp.

Rumple cheered and so did Belle.

Gervase rose clumsily to his feet, the wind somewhat knocked out of him, and went on the attack again, this time trying to catch his slim opponent and crush him in a bear hug.

Bey read his intent as easily as a cook read a recipe book, and with one lithe motion swept a foot into the bigger man and kicked his feet right out from under him. As Gervase crashed to the ground, Bey sighed. "Pride goes before a fall, so my people always say. Had enough?"

Now some of the villagers were laughing.

The smith went red with rage, then he jumped up and attacked wildly, hoping some of his punches would connect. All he needed was one and the cripple was finished and he would grind him under his boot.

Bey clucked at him in disapproval. "Didn't your father ever teach you, never fight in anger? Anger makes you lose focus," He slipped under the other's guard and slammed a knee into the brawny man's crotch. "See what happens when you lose focus?" he chided.

Gervase made a sound like a cow dying and doubled over.

Eyes narrowing, Bey launched a two fingered attack of his own, striking the other man on the cluster of nerves between his neck and shoulder, causing Gervase to crumple because that single jab had caused his whole body to freeze and become paralyzed for a time. It was called the Finger of Doom, and had the assassin wished, he could have killed the smith right then and there.

As Gervase thudded to the ground again, Bey stepped back and hissed, "Next time, you brainless buffoon, walk away like I told you. Or else the next sight you see will be the afterworld." He leaned down and whispered into the other man's ear. "And if you _ever_ lay your filthy hands upon Aimee again, there won't be enough of you left for a matchbox once I get through with you!" His eyes glittered like deadly gems. "Remember this lesson, fool, it's the only one you're going to get. Next time you cross me, you can say hello to your ancestors!"

Gervase said nothing, his vocal cords parlayzed. But his eyes rolled frantically in his head.

Bey straightened and cast the smith a look of contempt before saying, "Anyone want to haul this heap of trash away? He's blocking traffic."

Two large dock workers came up. "We'll bring him home, Master Bey," said one and he touched his forehead in a gesture of respect.

"Good. Maybe by morning he'll sober up," Bey replied, then he turned away and walked up to Aimee. "Are you all right? He didn't hurt you?"

She shook her head. "He kissed me but I smacked him a good one. I was just about to get out my pepper pouch before you came," she admitted.

He chuckled. "I should have known you'd come prepared to deal with bullying idiots." He flashed her one of his rare smiles, and it lit his whole face. "Would you care to accompany me for some lunch, Mistress Spinner?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Master Starfall," Aimee grinned, and set the sign on her booth to closed. She put her hand in his, and called, "Rumple, where are you?"

"Here, Mama," her son replied and ran over to them. "Master Bey, you were amazing!" He was practically jumping up and down. "The way you knocked that fat bully on the ground _four_ times! How'd you do that?"

"I watched my opponent carefully and saw what he was going to do before he did it," Bey replied honestly.

Behind them people were muttering, "He took out Gervase without even breaking a sweat!"

"With a crippled arm! How could he do that?"

"Magic?"

"Nah. He did it with a finger!"

"Gervase passed out from the ale."

"No, I saw it! Starfall hit him and then he was frozen. Like a board!" the other disagreed.

Speculation swirled about them as they walked over to one of the cook stalls, and Aimee cocked her head at her suitor and said, "Where did you learn to . . .knock a man out like that? That's no soldier's trick."

Bey looked at her. "I was more than your average soldier. I was a combat master. As such I learned anatomy, and how best to disable and to kill an enemy if necessary." He said, telling her the truth, but only partially. "That group of nerves I touched . . .when struck a certain way results in a temporary paralysis. I figured it was the best way to take him out without risking me damaging him permanently." He didn't mention that he could have also killed the arrogant smith in a dozen ways in five minutes.

"You were smart," the wise woman agreed, thinking there was more he wasn't telling her but she wouldn't pry. A man was entitled to his own privacy and some things were often too private to be shared.

Rumple tugged on Bey's hand. "What was that called? What you did to Gervase?"

"It's called the Finger of Doom. And not something you need to learn." Bey said quietly. _The path of silence and shadow is not for you, son. And the darkness shall never claim your soul, not if I have anything to say about it._ The little boy's face fell. "Listen. Some things I'll teach you because you need to know them, and others I won't because I hope you'd never need to know how to hurt someone that way. There's another maneuver I'll show you, similar to that one, which will also do what I did, but it's easier to master." It was also easier to ensure you didn't accidentally kill your opponent, he thought. "And like I said to you before, the best kind of fight is the one where you walk away."

"But you didn't," Rumple pointed out.

"No, because I couldn't. That ox wouldn't allow me to, and I offered him three chances to do so. But he was determined to fight me, so I gave him what he wanted. Then he realized you ought to be careful what you wish for—you just might get it."

"You beat the spit outta him! He was rude n'nasty to Mama," Rumple said indignantly.

"I know. And that sort of behavior should never be tolerated. A woman is always deserving of courtesy and respect . . .unless of course she's trying to kill you."

"Then what do you do?"

"Run," the former Dark One giggled. But he didn't tell the youngster that he had killed more than one female assassin in his day, and those were the deaths that often weighed heaviest on his soul. He set a hand on Rumple's shoulder. "I could have hurt that oaf badly, but I chose to simply teach him a lesson. Discipline and restraint above all else, Rumple. D'you understand?"

"Yessir," the boy assured him.

"Good lad. Avoid fights if possible, but if you do have to fight, search out your opponents weaknesses and exploit them, and always use your head."

"Brains over brawn," Rumple recited.

"Exactly, dearie!" Aimee praised, her heart swelling with love for both her son and the man beside him. "Let's get some meat pies. I'm starving!"

"Me too," agreed Bey, thinking dealing with idiots always worked up an appetite.

As they waited on line to order, several men were whispering about how the fight had gone, and all of them were wondering just who Bey Starfall had been before he retired and came to Hearthstone. Because he surely wasn't any ordinary bodyguard or even a guard captain. He was a mystery begging to be solved, though none of the villagers ever suspected the truth, nor did Gervase ever realize how close he had come to death that day.

 


	11. Goin' A'Courtin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Rumple and Belle decide to play matchmaker with Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher

_Three months later:_

"Master Bey, is it true you can make a love potion to make a girl fall in love with you?" Rumple asked the glyphmaster.

Bey turned from showing Belle how to draw glyph for rain and looked at Rumple in amusement. "Now where did you hear that, lad? You're too young to court."

The six-year-old shrugged. "Some boys at school think that's what you're teachin' me—how to make potions n' stuff like that."

Bey's eyes danced. "First off, Rumple, remember when I told you that all magic comes with a price? Well, there's a few other rules in magic and one of them is that you cannot make a person fall in love with anyone with magic. It's not possible. Love is the greatest magic of the human heart, and it cannot be counterfeited by any potion. Either you fall in love with someone yourself or you don't. And no potion can make someone love you who isn't interested in you. And anyone who says they can—is lying through their teeth. It's the same with raising the dead. It can't be done, it's forbidden."

"Why?" asked Belle, completing her drawing of her glyph. "If someone dies suddenly—like someone you love—why can't you bring them back with magic?"

"Because of the Balance between Life and Death," the glyphmaster explained patiently. "Everything is born and someday everything shall die. It's the gods' will when you do. And only they have the right to decide that. Not us. Those who have tried to raise the dead—have failed. They cannot bring back the spirit into the body, and when they tried, they ended up with a half-mad creature that was neither alive or dead, but some horrible thing inbetween . . .and it could only be killed with great difficulty. So . . .raising the dead is forbidden. Dead is dead."

Belle and Rumple shivered. Then Belle said, "But Master Bey, I've heard that there are bad mages, necromancers my papa calls 'em, and they control undead things—like skeletons and zombies and spirits."

Rumple's hair stood on end. "That's creepy!"

"You're right, Belle. There are such mages," Bey said darkly, thinking he had killed a few in his career who had threatened his king. "And they are rotten to the core and when discovered are punished severely." _With death._

"Good, because why would you want to play around with undead like that anyway?" Rumple said.

"For power," Bey replied. Then he shook his head. "Now, let's focus on something else. Like altering the weather. You should only do so when you know what altering the weather will do not only in your area, but other areas as well. Because sometimes making it rain where you are could cause somewhere else to experience draught, or violent storms . . . so you must always Look into the weather patterns to see what would happen if you altered them. Use your magic responsibly, not foolishly . . ."

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Later on that week, Rumple observed that Mr. Kringle returned in his sleigh to call upon his Aunt Lauren. She wore the red cloak Mr. Kringle had given her and was helped into his sleigh by him. Tom Sawyer happened to be at the Spinner' cottage, giving Claudette a jar of special rose petal jam and freshly baked scones from his Aunt Polly as a thank you for Claudette curing her rheumatism. The older boy, he was sixteen now, snickered a little as he saw the two board the sleigh.

"Well, looks like Mr. Kringle is sparkin' Miss Lauren, all right."

Rumple stood beside him and frowned. "What's sparkin' mean, dearie?"

"Sparkin's like . . . well, it's when you court a girl. You know, bring her flowers n' carry her books for her from school and . . .err . . .defend her honor from stupid men. That kind of thing."

Rumple wondered if Bey wanted to spark his mama, seeing as how he had defended her honor from Gervase. He gazed up at Tom, whom he considered almost a grown man and wise about such things. "Tom, have you ever . . .umm gone sparkin' with a girl?"

Tom coughed, his ears turning red. "Well . . . I kinda wish I did . . .cause there's a girl I like but . . .well, I don't know if she likes me."

"Who is it? And why don't you just ask her?"

Tom knelt to whisper in Rumple's ear. "Her name's Becky. Becky Thatcher. And I can't just ask her. That's not how it's done, tadpole."

Rumple eyed him. "Then how is it done?"

"Well, first you gotta get a girl to notice ya. In a good way, see. Like defending her honor." Tom began.

"Have you done that?"

"Umm . . . well . . .sorta. When I was thirteen, Teacher got mad for Becky talkin', but I told the teacher it was me and he licked me instead. So that's sorta like defending her honor. But now I guess she's forgotten that, cause all of a sudden she's makin' eyes at Mike Fink, that river rat!"

Mike Fink was another bully that liked to tell tall tales and kept boasting about how when he came into some money gambling he was gonna have himself a boat business, the best on the Enchanted River, and make lots of money. Most of the other boys thought he was full of hot air, but he was tall and thin with big shoulders and nice even features, as well as dark wavy hair that made girls sigh. Tom was of the opinion that no girl would sigh over Mike if they knew what a rat he was. But he didn't know how he was gonna make Becky notice him now. Because he was still a skinny beanpole with red hair and freckles, not much to look at.

Rumple bit the inside of his lip. "Maybe she just needs some . . .reminding?"

"Guess so," the older boy sighed, his hands in his pockets. "But I can't remind her."

"Why?"

"Cause girls don't like boys who talk about themselves," Tom explained. "Makes 'em think we're showin' off."

"How about if someone else reminds her for you?"

"Uh, they could. But who am I gonna get to do that?"

"Me. And Belle. I can talk to her, and ask her what girls like in boys and she can tell you. Maybe you're missing something obvious." Rumple said. "It's not like with me. No girl's gonna want me 'cause I'm a bastard and lame."

Tom shook his head. "Don't say that, Rumple. Cause I can name one girl who will want you to court her. Once she grows up."

"Who?"

"Your friend Belle. She's just like you. Too smart, an' people all think she's weird 'cause she's a Seer, an' her papa is too 'cause he's an' inventor an' her mama's a lady that married him. But that doesn't bother you, now does it?"

Rumple shook his head. "No. Why should it?"

"It shouldn't. But people are stupid and stuck on themselves," Tom snorted. "I think, Rumple, if you play your cards right, Belle will marry you someday."

"I don't know how to play cards. And Aunt Lauren says playin' cards was why my papa was such a lazy arse."

"That's jus' an' expression, tadpole. Think about what I said. You and Belle are perfect for each other."

Rumple didn't know what to say to that. So he changed the subject. "How 'bout you an' Becky, dearie?"

Tom expelled a sigh. "With Mike around, she don't know I exist."

"Belle an' I could fix that. If you want."

Tom snickered. "What's your deal, Rumple? You think you can get Becky to notice me?"

"Don't see why not."

"Yeah, and why would you do that?"

Rumple shrugged. "Because I'm tired of bullies like Gaston an' Mike an' Felix getting' the better of everybody. Bullies oughta get put in their place, not get whatever they want."

Tom ruffled his hair. "But that ain't how the world works, little buddy."

"Then maybe it's time to change that," the child said fiercely. "Lemme go talk to Belle."

"How'll I know if she says yes?"

"You know the big oak tree before you get to school? There's a knot there. It opens and there's a hole behind it. I'll leave you a note." Then he held out his hand. "Have we got a deal, dearie?"

Tom shook. "Deal, Rumple. And I'll owe you."

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Rumple walked quickly over to the Avignon cottage, finding Belle home helping her mother prune the roses. The little boy waited patiently for them to finish, accepting the offer of a glass of lemonade and some molasses cookies from Elena and sitting on the porch steps watching. He would have offered to help, but Elena said they were almost done and he might as well sit down and wait, since it was hot out today. Elena often worried about the heat, especially because her cousin had once passed out from heat stroke and nearly died as a child. Both ladies wore wide brimmed straw hats with bows to keep the sun off, and gloves so the roses didn't prick them, as well as light muslin lawn dresses. Belle had on a pretty blue sprigged one and Elena a rose sprigged one. They also wore sandals.

Rumple sipped his lemonade and wiped his face with his sleeve. He thought his Aunt Lauren was lucky to be goin' courtin' with Mr. Kringle, because he could fly her in his sleigh to the Northern Lands where it was cool and never baking like this. Even in his summerweight short sleeved shirt and vest and light breeches he felt stifled. He wished he could go barefoot, like many of the boys did, and even some of the girls, but he knew without his special shoes he would be back to using his crutch again, and he didn't like anyone to see his deformed foot.

It was an unusually warm spring, all the oldsters said, which meant an absolutely hotter than Hades summer. Rumple wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. He sucked on the ice in his glass and sketched a glyph for a breeze in the air, then sighed in relief when a small breeze blew about him, making his hair fly all over and cooling him.

Soon Belle skipped up to him, peeling off her gloves and fanning herself with her hat. "C'mon, Rumple, let's go inside where it's cool."

He followed her inside the cottage, which was blessedly cooler than outside, and had another glass of lemonade and some more cookies with Belle at her small table in her playroom. "Belle, you gotta help me."

"Why what's goin' on?" she asked concerned.

"I made a deal with Tom to help him spark Becky Thatcher, only Becky don't know he likes her or nothin' cause all she wants to do is look at Mike Fink the rat bully 'cause he's handsome."

Belle frowned. "Tom wants to light Becky on fire?"

"No, no! Sparkin's like courtin', dearie!" Rumple began.

"All right." She wrinkled her nose. "Mike might be good lookin', but he's a liar an' Cora an' Bo think he hung the moon."

"I know. I don't like him either. He called me Hobblefoot," Rumple said indignantly.

"Humph!" Belle snorted. "So we gotta make Becky notice Tom?"

"Yeah and I said you'd know how 'cause you're a girl and you know what girls like. I told Tom we'd meet him tomorrow by the old oak tree with the knothole."

Belle nodded. "I'll think on it tonight."

"Tom said if we can tell Becky some nice things and remind her how he defended her honor from the teacher when they were thirteen that might get her to notice him again. So's maybe she'll marry him even if he isn't as handsome as Mike." Then he paused and said, "Tom says that I don't have to worry about a girl marrying me because you will when we grow up."

Belle eyed him exasperatedly.

"What's that look for, dearie?"

"Because it took ya _this_ long to figure that out?" the little girl demanded. "Really, Rumplestiltskin?"

"I never thought about it . . .not till Mr. Kringle and Aunt Lauren started," he pointed out. "And then I figgered who'd want me on account of my no-good coward papa an' my lame leg?"

"I would!" Belle said stoutly. "Because you're the smartest and nicest boy I know and the only one who doesn't think I'm queer and crazy when I get Visions. And my mama and papa like you and I like your mama n' aunts."

"How long have you known, Belle? That you were gonna marry me?"

"Months. A girl's gotta plan for her future, Mama always says," Belle returned saucily.

"So why didn't you say something?"

"I'm saying something now," she sniffed. "Because ladies don't propose marriage. It's not done. That's what boys are supposed to do."

Rumple sighed. It seemed there were lots of rules for courting stuff, and he didn't know any of them. "Is that what I did? Propose to you?"

"Um . . . sort of. It's like a promise now, but when you're older, like eighteen, you can give me a real proposal, like with a ring an' flowers an' ask me if I'll marry you," she said dreamily.

"But you've already said you would. Why would I have to ask you again?" he asked, puzzled.

"Rumplestiltskin! Because that's how it's done!"

Rumple thought it was silly, having to ask Belle all over again to marry him when she already agreed to. Unless she thought she might forget. After all eighteen was years and years away. But he wisely said nothing. Girls seemed to know more about this courting thing than boys.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Tom returned to the tree and found a note waiting from Rumple that afternoon. He tucked it in his pocket and whistled as he went back to his aunt's house. It said he should meet Belle and Rumple after school by the tree tomorrow. Tom would be there, making sure he got off of work early from the dry goods store, where he helped stock the shelves and made deliveries to people. The store was a new endeavor, but so far it seemed to be doing well, since his deliveries made the lives of many housewives and elderly people who couldn't get to market every Wednesday and Saturday easier.

Tom found the two children waiting with Nyx, leaning against the trunk of the knothole oak. The big wolf-dog was lying down, watching the children, nearly blending in totally with the forest floor with her black coat. "Hello, Rumple, Belle, Nyx." He ran a hand through his shaggy red hair.

"Hey, Tom," the two greeted.

"So . . .what advice do you have to give me?" he got right down to business.

Belle studied him, her hands on her hips. "Well, for starters, you need to change your clothes an' get a hair cut n' take a bath. Girls don't like boys with dirt on them an' ripped clothes and hair like birds nests."

Tom gaped at her. "Ya mean I gotta dress up? Like in my Sunday go to meeting suit? And cut my _hair?_ "

"And take a bath," reminded Rumple.

"Ya can't be serious!"

Belle rolled her eyes. "You wanted my advice an' I gave it."

"You don't need to wear your best clothes, Tom." Rumple argued. "Just ones without holes in the knees an' the elbows. Can't you get your aunt to mend them?"

Tom sighed. "Aunt Polly's eyes are goin'. She can't see too well anymore."

Rumple frowned. "Well . . .if your aunt can't sew, can you?"

"Me? Sew?" he looked flabbergasted.

" _I_ can," Rumple informed him.

"Yeah but . . .err . . ." Tom floundered before he said something insulting to the little boy about being lame and learning women's work.

"Boys!" Belle snorted. "Half of you only know how to rip and tear stuff and not to fix it! Rumple's the only boy I know with common sense and practicality."

Rumple preened at her words.

"Hey! I got common sense!"

"Yeah? Then why don't you cut your hair and wear nice clothes?" she retorted.

Tom scowled, knowing she was right. "Umm . . ."

"I'll mend your clothes," Rumple offered. "If you get me peaches from Old Evans' orchard."

"Deal!" Tom agreed, and that was one hurdle solved.

"Now, I'll cut your hair," Belle began.

" _What?_ " Tom covered his head protectively. "No!"

"You wanna get Becky to notice you or not?"

"But—but—Mike doesn't have his hair cut!" he sputtered.

"He don't look like a shaggy sheepdog!" Belle returned spiritedly.

"Better give up, Tom," Rumple advised. "You said you wanted Becky to pick you over Mike . . .and this is how."

"Aww, I'll be a horny toad!" the elder boy groaned.

"Oh quit your bellyachin'!" Belle ordered. "It's just a haircut."

"You sure you know what you're doing?"

"Uh huh. Master Bey taught me the spell for it."

"You're—you're gonna magic my hair?" Tom whimpered.

"How else am I gonna do it?" she asked exasperatedly. "I'm too little to cut right."

"It won't hurt, Tom," Rumple persuaded.

"I just hope it looks good when you're done."

"Anything will look better than what it's like now," Belle pointed out. "Looks like rats chewed on it."

"Gee, thanks!"

"Sorry, but you asked me to be honest. That's the truth," the child answered.

"Sit down," Rumple said.

Tom reluctantly did so and Belle concentrated, drawing the correct glyphs with her hand. They glowed electric blue and Tom felt invisible hands and scissors snipping at his head.

When the glyphs faded, Tom's hair was now neat, combed, and trimmed. It was short enough to look tidy but he could still pull it back into a tail.

Rumple clapped. "You did it, Belle."

Belle beamed proudly.

"How's it look?"

"It looks good. Take a look in the pond or a stream." Rumple assured him. "I'll have your clothes fixed in two days and then you can make sure Becky sees you walking somewhere."

"Yeah and we can tell her all your good points," Belle added.

"And how much better you are than Mike." Rumple said.

"You think it'll work?" Tom asked, feeling his newly shorn head.

"It should."

He stood up, dusting the ginger hair from his shirt. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

After Tom gave Rumple the clothes he needed mended, the two went over to the Spinners' shop and did their homework together. They also started plotting what to tell Becky about Tom.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Becky Thatcher was a pretty girl, one who was smart and could have her pick of the young men in Hearthstone. But she was currently having trouble making up her mind. She had grown up with Tom, and knew him almost like she would a brother. When they were small he pulled her pigtails and she put worms in his lunch pail. But now they were too old for pranks, and she didn't know if Tom were interested in her as a lady. Mike Fink, who was a newcomer to the village, having moved in when Mike was fourteen, was suave and polished, and knew how to sweet talk a girl. Becky felt flattered when Mike compared her to roses and willows. Tom, however, never compared her to anything.

She brushed her thick hair, that some boys had compared to golden sheaves of wheat, back from her forehead and then continued walking down the street, going to pick up a mended bridle from the saddler for her father. As she walked she felt eyes on her and when she turned saw Tom lounging against the wall nonchalantly.

"Afternoon, Becky," he said and nodded respectfully to her.

Becky smiled back. "Afternoon, Tom." It was then that she noticed he was wearing clean clothes . . .and his hair was neatly combed and trimmed attractively around his ears, unlike the messy haystack it usually was.

Her blue eyes widened in startled appreciation.

"You going to run an errand for your aunt?" she called, slowing down so she could admire him covertly. She hadn't realized that Tom cleaned up so nice.

"Just getting back from one. How about you?"

"I need to pick up a bridle for my pa."

"Care for some company?" he said diffidently.

"I wouldn't mind," Becky agreed, and then he fell into step beside her.

Behind a small bush, Rumple grinned at Belle and smacked his hand into hers. "It's working!"

"This is only the beginning," she whispered back.

"But it's a good one," he replied happily.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

As she ran errands in town and also for the school, since she was an assistant teacher, Becky found that she was often approached by two children—Belle Avignon and Rumple Spinner. Once she was buying some more blue and red thread at the Spinner's shop, and Rumple sidled up to her and said, "You know, Becky, the other day Tom went and helped my Aunt Claudette carry her shopping home, because she got a turkey from one of her patients for delivering a baby."

"Did he? That was nice of him." She smiled down at the engaging little waif.

"Uh huh. Tom's always helping my aunts with stuff. He painted their porch and the house a long time ago, when I was a baby. And it's still good."

"Seems like Tom was always painting something!" Becky giggled. "Because he was always in trouble."

Rumple gave her a cheeky grin. "So's all kids sometimes."

"True," agreed Becky fondly.

"But Tom's always stuck up for you hasn't he?"

"Yes," she admitted.

Rumple nodded, pleased. Then he trotted off before Becky could wonder why he seemed to be promoting Tom to her.

When she was shopping in town for some ribbon for a hat, she met Elena and Belle in the dress shop, picking out some fabric. "That's a real pretty color, Belle," she told the little girl.

Belle smiled. "I know. It's the color of my eyes. And it also reminds me of Tom's eyes . . .on account of I just saw him go by."

Becky looked closer at the fabric. "Why, you're right!"

Belle nodded. "Tom helped me do my homework once. He's really good with math."

"I know. He was always good in math. He used to beat me all the time in the math bees."

"And I told him he looked good with his new haircut. He said at least he doesn't look like a shaggy dog. He always makes me laugh." She giggled softly.

"Tom always did have a sense of humor."

One day Rumple lingered after school to ask a question and he whispered to Becky, who was grading some geography tests, "You know, Tom thinks your hair looks like spun gold."

Becky's jaw dropped. "He told you that?"

"Uh huh. Said so one day when he saw some gold braid in my aunt's shop. He said it was really pretty—like you."

Becky blushed. Then she began to wonder if Tom was interested in her.

Two days later, Becky was walking back from school, and Rumple and Belle were beside her, chattering about something funny Tom did, when Mike showed up. The older boy took Becky's arm possessively and said, "May I escort you home, Miss Thatcher?"

Becky blushed. "Sure, Mike."

Belle scowled. "Becky, you promised we were gonna get donuts at the bakery."

"Remember?" Rumple pressed.

Mike turned to the two kids and growled, "Beat it, shrimps! Nobody wants to hear you brats whine."

Belle lifted her chin. "You ain't the boss of me!"

"No? How'd you like a red behind, you insolent chatterbox?" he threatened.

"You hurt Belle and you'll regret it," Rumple cried. "I'll make your weenie fall off!"

"You and what army, you little crippled bastard?"

Becky glared at him, not liking how he treated the little children. "Michael! You quit bullying those kids!"

Mike turned to her with a disarming smile. "Aww, Becky! They're just annoying brats."

"They most certainly are not! They're sweet children, and if you can't be kind to them I certainly don't need your assistance home! Come on, Rumple and Belle, let's go home!" She took the children's hands.

Mike gaped at her. "But—but Becky! They're just brats! Not even yours! Why do you care? Tell 'em to scram and we can—" He ran after her, looking like a dog who had lost his bone.

Becky's icy glare froze him in his tracks. " _We_ are not doing anything, Mr. Fink! _I_ am going to walk my _students_ home and _you_ can go an scram back to whatever hang out you were in before spotting me. Good day, sir!"

Then, with a regal air and her head high, Becky promptly led Rumple and Belle across the street, not deigning to walk on the side where Mike was. It was what those in society might have called a cut direct. Belle and Rumple grinned at each other across their assistant teacher.

"Pay no attention to the ruffian behind us, children," Becky said, ina sweet yet disapproving voice that carried down the street. "We don't need to associate with riffraff, especially ones that threaten little children."

"Yes, ma'am," Belle said.

"No, we sure don't, Miss Becky," Rumple agreed.

Becky smiled at them. "Now, you'll have to tell me again, where did you last see Tom?"

Belle told her, then asked innocently, "So does this mean you want to walk out with Tom now, Miss Becky?"

"Yeah, because Tom's a lot nicer than that rat Fink!" Rumple added.

Becky nodded. "I know. Tom took the blame once for something I did at school, and took a thrashing for me. I've never forgotten that. Mike was just . . . a conman with a pretty face. I'm glad I found out what a liar and an unpleasant person he was before I decided to let him spark me."

"Sometimes fair is foul and foul is fair," Belle quoted.

"My papa was a handsome lout," Rumple informed Becky. "Least that's what my aunts say. They say he was a smooth talker too—talked my mama into believing he loved her and was gonna marry her, then he went and left her high and dry and her papa kicked her out. He was no good."

"I know. But his son, however, is a very good person, Rumple," Becky said, and ruffled his hair.

"Rumple, have you ever met your grandpa?" Belle asked curiously.

Rumple shook his head. "No. I mean he knows where I live an' I know where he lives—in the big salmon colored cottage there," he pointed to it as they walked past. "But I've never seen him or talked to him. He probably doesn't wanna be reminded I exist."

"Well, that's his loss then," Becky said softly. "Because he's missing out on a perfectly wonderful grandson, and you're the only family he has left, I believe. Juliette was his only daughter and her mama died when she was a small child." She looked at the Marchand house. Mr. Marchand had shut himself up like a hermit, and was rarely seen now.

Then she changed the subject back to Tom and the two matchmaking tots proved more than willing to discuss him.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

The next day, they saw Tom waiting for Becky after school, and he took her arm and they walked out of the schoolyard, the red head and gold one close together. They paused once they were out of the yard and Tom dipped his head and kissed her.

Several of the children watching snickered, but Belle and Rumple gave each other a high five. Score one for their side.

"Now that we got that settled, now we gotta work on your mama and Master Bey, Rumple," Belle told him as they walked home. "Cause you'll be an old man if you wait for them to finally make up their minds!"

"You think Master Bey really loves my mama?"

"Rumple, he beat up _Gervase_ for her! And he's always over your house eating supper."

"Maybe he just feels lonely with only Nyx." Rumple said uncertainly.

Belle shook her head knowingly. "No, Rumple. I think Master Bey has been alone much of his life, he's used to it. But he's never met anyone like your mama and he prefers her company to his own."

"You think he loves her?"

Belle nodded vigorously. "Yup. You don't risk getting yourself pounded into dust by Gervase unless you love someone. And your mama smiles and laughs a lot more than usual when he's there. She even puts her hair up for him and wears a different dress when she knows he's coming."

"That's true. I think maybe you're right, and they do love each other." Then another thought occurred to him. "Belle, if Master Bey marries her . . .then he'll be my papa."

"I know. And you need one, Rumple. Master Bey won't hurt you like your old papa," she said seriously.

"I know. I wouldn't mind if he was my papa." Rumple said softly. The thought of his soft spoken teacher being his papa, and being with him every day made him smile.

"Then we gotta help them," Belle said. "Like we did Becky and Tom."

Then the two put their heads together again and plotted how to get two reluctant and stubborn people together.


	12. His Dark Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Belle try to matchmake between Bey and Aimee until Bey's dark past rears its head and might drive a wedge between them.

**12**

**His Dark Past**

Rumple and Belle decided the best way to get Aimee and Master Bey together was to have Aimee make supper for him. But since they wanted it to be a surprise, they resolved to do a kind of playful trickery, as they had done with Tom and Becky. So Rumple informed Aimee that day before going to school that he had invited Belle and her parents for dinner, since he wanted to thank them for letting him stay over their house last week.

“Is that all right, Mama? Or do you want me to tell them to come another day?”

Aimee thought for a moment. “No, dearie, that’s fine. As long as they don’t mind chicken pie, fresh buttermilk rolls with sweet butter and honey, and a peach crumble with cream for dessert.”

“They’ll eat anything, Mama,” Rumple said blithely, thinking with a slight smirk that Bey’s favorite dessert was something with peaches and he did eat whatever Aimee cooked and thought it was wonderful.

“All right then, dearie, tell them to come for supper at six o’clock,” Aimee told him, ruffling his floofy hair and kissing him lightly on the cheek. “Have a good day at school, Rumple.”

“I will, Mama,” the child called gaily, and picked up his lunch pail and satchel of books with his slate and hurried off to meet Belle at her house.

Belle had on a new pink dress, with small sprigs of wildflowers on it, her aunt who lived in the big city had made it for her as a belated birthday present, and it had two ruffles on the bottom (three was for a girl coming out) and pintucks in the bodice and puffed sleeves with lace trim. There was also a matching hair bow. Belle had on lacey stockings and her good leather shoes, the kind she wore to church on Sundays.

Rumple smiled shyly when he saw her. “You look real nice, Belle.”

“Thanks! My Aunt Merry made this for me for my birthday, but it got done late and the mail is so slow it didn’t arrive till yesterday.” She twirled around so Rumple could see how the skirt was all flowy and swishy, like a big girl’s who was sparking. “Like Miss Thatcher’s.”

Rumple nodded with all the gravity of a judge pronouncing a sentence. “Yup. You look almost old enough to court.”

Belle giggled. “But I don’t wanna court anybody ‘cept you,” she told him earnestly.

Rumple shrugged. “Me neither, but we aren’t old enough yet.” Then he told her what he had told Aimee this morning, and said, “So now all we gotta do is tell Master Bey, and you can remind him how a lady likes flowers and tell him Mama’s favorite kind—roses and hydrangeas.”

“I can do that,” Belle agreed.

Halfway to school, Nyx appeared and walked sedately beside them. Neither of the children had been bothered by Felix or George or Bo and Cora since Rumple had beaten up George and Felix for knocking out Belle with an iceball over the winter and Cora and Bo had kept their distance ever since Belle’s prediction about Bo getting lice came true. They now regarded the small girl as “creepy” and “strange” and would whisper about her when they thought she couldn’t hear. However, Rumple and Belle welcomed the big wolf-dog’s company, knowing that with Nyx around, they were safe from anyone trying to harm them. No one wanted to risk getting Nyx’s fangs in their hide, or the wrath of her master.

Since Bey had handily shown Gervase the folly of treating a lady with total disrespect three months ago at the market, no one in Hearthstone wanted to tangle with the man, who was known to be able to take down a man twice his size, even with a crippled arm, and without using his magic too. Now when Bey walked through the village, people gave him nods of respect and women fluttered their lashes at him, though most of them realized discreetly that he had set his cap for Aimee Spinner, as it had been her honor he’d defended that day.  

The former mage assassin and glyphmaster seemed embarrassed by all the attention, and sought to fade into the background more often than not. But after teaching that lout Gervase a lesson in public, anonymity was something he had lost forever.

But the villagers were respectful of the reclusive sorcerer for the most part, even Gervase, though he and his son hated Bey, they were careful to not rile him up. Newcomers were rare to Hearthstone, since it was in the back of beyond, so no one outside of the village knew of Bey’s reputation as an extraordinary warrior, and the villagers didn’t gossip about their own to strangers in other villages.

So Bey had no fear of being recognized by anyone from Avaria, and his secret was safe. Or so he thought.

That day in school Miss Mack had a spelling bee for the younger grades. After three rounds, only Rumple, Belle, Melinda, and Cora remained. In the fourth round, Cora missed the word “commitment” and she was disqualified. She glared at the remaining spellers. After two more rounds, Melinda missed the word “mysterious” and then it was only Rumple and Belle.

Everyone waited with bated breath to see who would be the 1-2 grade’s spelling champion.

“C’mon, Spinner, don’t let a girl beat ya!” hooted one older boy.

“You can do it, Belle!” urged Melinda.

“Yeah, she can cheat and See the words in Teacher’s book!” sneered Cora.

Belle blushed crimson. That was a lie, but what if people believed it?

“Quiet!” Miss Mack ordered. “No more comments or else you’ll have extra homework.”

The students went still like mice when a hawk swoops.

Miss Mack gave Rumple the word “malcontent.” He spelled it correctly.

Belle had “mitigate”. She spelled it correctly.

After five minutes, Miss Mack began picking words from the advanced class.

Everyone, even their mortal enemies, were amazed at how well these six-year-olds could spell, never guessing it was because they read so much all the time.

Finally Rumple forgot the silent “e” on the end of “hypocrite” and was disqualified.

For the championship, Belle spelled “reprehensible”.

“Very good, Miss Avignon!” Miss Mack applauded. She gave Belle a blue winner’s rosette with the words #1 Spelling Bee Champ and a book of children’s poetry.

Even Rumple and Melinda got runner up rosettes and everyone received a cookie, even those in the older grades who had watched.

“Now let’s have a round of applause for our first and second graders!” Miss Mack ordered and everyone clapped. “Next week, it’ll be the third and fourth graders turn to show me how well they can spell.”

“Miss Mack, you rhymed!” giggled Timmy Preston.

“I know,” she winked at him. “Homework for tonight—none!”

This statement was met with whoops and shrieks of delight and one boy threw his cap in the air.

When the bell rang the excited students streamed out the schoolhouse door and into the yard like inmates released from a long prison sentence.

Several girls complemented Belle on her new dress, though Bo sneered and said, “I guess it’s nice . . . if you like last year’s fashions.”

Cora sniggered. “Or wedding cakes. Maybe Belle is trying out for a new contest—Miss Cake Topper!”

“Whatever contest she’s in—she’ll beat you, hands down!” Rumple shot back.

Belle rolled her eyes. “Jealousy is the root of all evil,” she quoted, the Ladies Book of Manners and Politeness, something which every mother had a copy of to instruct their daughters in the proper way to behave, write invitations, dress, and follow the rules for polite society. Or at least they did if they could read. “C’mon, Rumple. It’s time for lessons with Master Bey.”

Rumple followed her to the path beside the schoolhouse and soon Nyx padded from the trees to escort them. The two children whispered and giggled about their matchmaking scheme til they got to Bey’s cottage, and burst into the small house to show their mage master their newly won spelling bee ribbons.

Bey praised them, and then Rumple gave him the news that he was invited to dinner. “Mama’s making peach crumble!”

“I’d eat paper if Aimee baked it,” Bey laughed. “But you know peaches are my favorite, don’t you, scamp?”

Rumple giggled.

“Now, today we’re going to learn about glyphs to stop something—or someone—in their tracks. Especially useful if something or someone is chasing you.”

He pulled a piece of parchment towards him and paused when he dipped his quill into the inkwell. “Now, you already know the glyph for stop—draw it for me . . .”

As his students bent their heads to their parchments, Bey thought about what he was going to wear to this dinner, and how his heart leapt foolishly in his chest at the mere thought of seeing Aimee again. He feared very much he was falling in love with her, and he knew with every ounce of good sense in his body that was not something he should do. Aimee deserved a decent man, not one who had come to Hearthstone hiding a dark past, one with blood on his hands from years of quiet work. She needed a man who wouldn’t make her ashamed of him. For who could ever love the Dark One?

But he also knew of her own sad past, and how the sisters’ suitors had rejected them when they lost their fortunes, and he couldn’t bear to add to that rejection by not spending time with her. Though he knew if she ever discovered his dark past that would be the end of their relationship.

He thought it a shame that no man had ever seen what a beautiful person Aimee was, and asked to marry her. Then again, he knew most men wanted a wife for three things—because she was pretty, so he could show her off like some prize he’d won, because he needed someone to take care of his children, or because he needed a wife to have children with. Bey freely admitted most men were fools. Aimee was a treasure, a woman you could actually hold a conversation with for more than ten minutes about something other than herself, or her perfect children, one who was educated and could actually think, one who valued a person not for what they looked like or how much money they had, but for who they were. Bey knew that she was attracted to him, but he foolishly thought she was only attracted to his mind and his kind acts towards her and Rumple. He knew he wasn’t the type of man most women found handsome, and once he was crippled, the only way he’d have been able to get a woman to be attracted to him was to pay them. Little did he know that petite Aimee Spinner thought he was dashing and debonair.

He, however, found the middle Spinner sister adorable, from the top of her curly hair down to her toes, and a mere smile from her could make him freeze in his tracks, his heart thundering in his chest a mile a minute, and his thoughts focused upon a set of satin sheets and a bed with her in it.

Then he mocked himself for his own foolishness. Like that would ever happen. Still, he could dream.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Aimee finished crimping the last pie crust and slid the pans into the oven. In an hour the pies would be done and be cooling ready to eat when the Avignons arrived. She had already baked the rolls and the peach crumble, and were keeping them warm with a spell. She had informed Claudette that they were having guests and her sister had set the table with their good table linens and china.

Rumple arrived home, running in to show her the flowers Bey had given him to give to her. Actually, they were ones he and Belle had picked out of Elena’s garden. “Look, Mama! Master Bey brought you roses!”

Aimee took the beautiful bouquet of roses—white blush, champagne, pink, magenta, and deep crimson, with purple hydrangeas surrounding them. “Oh! These are exquisite! What a lovely gift!”

“Let me put them in a vase and we can have a centerpiece,” Aimee said, and hurried to get a vase to put the bouquet in, thinking that Bey’s thoughtful gestures never ceased to amaze her. Aimee managed to put the bouquet into the vase and fill it with some water, though he hands were trembling so much from sheer nerves that she almost spilled the whole thing. Irritated at herself, she snapped her fingers and transported it to the table.

 _Really, what is wrong with you, Aimee Spinner? It’s just a bouquet of flowers, not a betrothal ring!_ She chided herself.

Then she had Rumple go wash and change his clothes, running a brush through his floofy hair. Rumple rolled his eyes, but let her do so, thinking soon Belle would be over and they could play before Bey arrived.

He smirked, thinking that Aimee sure had loved those roses and hydrangeas.

Aimee went to change also, exchanging her floury apron and stained bodice and skirt for a clean blouse of a rose color and a deep brown skirt with some pretty lace trim. She accented the blouse with a brown leather vest with tooled roses, something she hadn’t worn in ages, but she wanted to look presentable to her guests, even if they were old friends. She twisted her unmanageable curls up into a chignon, wishing wistfully she had hair like her sister Lauren’s, all sleek like a seal’s and easy to plait and turn into the latest styles. Instead she had been cursed with these springy curls like corkscrew wire.

She gave herself a critical glance in the mirror, then said softly, “Well, guess I’ll do.”

It was a pity Lauren wasn’t going to be home, she was visiting with Kris, who wanted to show her some baby harp seals and penguins by his northern home. Lauren would have given her tea and told her in her no-nonsense tone to quit behaving like a goose.

Aimee gave herself a mental shake then went into the kitchen to make sure she had pitchers of cider and honey mead available for the adults.

Then she waited for her guests to arrive.

“Well, don’t you look a picture,” Claudette grinned upon seeing her sister. “Anybody would think you were meeting a beau, Aimee!”

“Landsakes, Claude!” Aimee clucked at her younger sister. “I had flour all over my clothes. You don’t expect me to receive company like that? We might not be in the city anymore, but I haven’t forgotten everything Mama taught us.”

Claudette smirked. “Just saying.”

Then a knock came at the door, and Rumple called, “I’ll get it, Mama!”

He rushed to open the door and found Belle on the other side. “Hey! You got here early!”

“I know, I ‘cided to come early so I could show your mama and aunts my new dress,” Belle smiled.

Aimee and Claudette admired Belle’s new dress, saying it made her look like a little rose. “But where’s your Mama and Papa, dearie?” asked Aimee.

“Home still,” Belle answered truthfully. Then she went and dragged Rumple by the hand and said, “Let’s go swing on the oak tree!”

They raced outside to jump on the swing hung in the branches of an old oak tree, and were still swinging in it when Bey came up to the cottage, dressed in one of his billowing purple shirts and the leather pants that were dyed to match, which had been popular court attire back in Avaria.

Rumple and Belle waved to him, and then jumped off the swing to run ahead into the cottage and tell Aimee that an unexpected guest had come to visit.

Aimee was startled, but then when she saw Bey, she blushed and said, “Why Bey! You look very handsome this evening!” _And you weren’t expecting him._

He bowed over her hand. “Not as pretty as you, Aimee.”

“You’re very kind to think so. Speaking of kindness, thank you for the lovely bouquet,” she indicated the flowers on the table.

“Bouquet?” Bey stammered, at a loss for words. “Umm . . .” _But I didn’t send any bouquet!_ He floundered for a moment before his court etiquette took over and he said, “They’re beautiful flowers for an equally lovely lady.”

“How did you know those were my favorite flowers?”

“Uh . . . let’s just say . . .a little bird told me,” Bey hedged.

Rumple and Belle gave each other a thumbs up sign, and then went to pet Nyx, who was lying on the porch, preferring to be outside rather than in the cottage, which was hot from so much cooking and baking, especially for a wolf-dog with a thick coat.

“I think it’s working!” Belle whispered excitedly to Rumple as he stroked Nyx.

“Yeah but what are we gonna tell them when Mama wonders where your parents are?”

Belle shrugged. “The truth?”

Rumple sighed. “I just hope she won’t get mad.”

“I think she’ll be too busy sparking Bey to get mad,” Belle said with a gamin grin.

She wondered how Bey had known to come for supper . . .then supposed Rumple had probably told him to, she knew the boy was fond of his teacher.

She smoothed down her vest and skirt, then patted her head to be sure her hair was still in place. Then she went out to offer Bey a drink while they waited for the rest of her guests to arrive.

But it drew near six and when Maurice and Elena didn’t show, Claudette said, “Perhaps they forgot the time?”

Aimee sighed. “Well . . .I suppose I can wait a few minutes longer.”

“What are we having?” Bey asked curiously.

“I made chicken pies and buttermilk rolls and for dessert there’s a peach crumble.”

“Sounds like a feast fit for a lord.” Bey commented, nearly licking his lips in anticipation. “Shall I call in the children? I believe they’re outside with Nyx.”

“Please,” Aimee said, then she unabashedly admired the view as Bey turned and walked over to the front door. The way those leathers tightened over his trim backside . . .Aimee was sure that the local priest would have palpitations at her impure thoughts. But she couldn’t help herself . . . irresistible . . . and she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame!

To hide her flushed face, she said, “Let me go and get the pies.”

As she went back into the kitchen to retrieve them, she buried her face in a dishcloth for a moment.

“Mama, are you all right?” asked Rumple, coming into the kitchen to help her.

“Yes, dearie, I’m just a little—hot,” Aimee coughed, thinking that if she got any more overheated she’d need to jump in the lake!

She fanned herself with the dishcloth then grabbed a pie with it and brought it to the table. There was a pie for everyone. As she went back into the kitchen to get another, Rumple went and tugged gently on her skirt.

“What is it, dearie?” she asked.

“Umm . . .I got to tell you something . . .” he said with a somewhat ashamed mischievous grin.

His mother cocked her head at him. “Rumplestiltskin, now what are you up to?”

Rumple told her how he had invited Bey to supper . . .but not Maurice and Elena, because he wanted to surprise her.

“Oh Rumple! You’re a scamp!” she scolded, but she actually wasn’t unhappy over his little deception. Then she hugged him. “Get the rolls so we can eat.”

Her son obeyed and they paraded into the main room of the cottage, where Aimee informed them that the Avignons wouldn’t be coming to supper after all. “But that’s all right, then I’ll just send a pie or two home with you, Belle.”

“Thanks,” Belle said. “Mama and Papa will like that.”

They all sat down to eat, and everyone proclaimed the pie and the rolls were delicious. “The best in the land, Mama!” Rumple declared.

“In seven kingdoms,” Bey refuted.

“I’d have to agree,” Claudette said. “Not even the king’s own chef cooks like my sister.”

“Oh, stop!” Aimee protested, blushing. “You’ll make me get a swelled head.”

Claudette snorted. “You? If anything, Aimee, you undervalue yourself.”

Bey nodded. “I’ve eaten at a king’s table, and I have to agree with Claudette, your cooking is amazing, the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“Miss Aimee, did Rumple tell you he won second place in the spelling bee today?” Belle asked, figuring her too modest friend wouldn’t have mentioned that to his mother with his worrying over his little misdeed.

“Why, no! Rumple, that’s wonderful!” Aimee exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rumple shrugged and looked at his plate. “Umm . . . dunno.” His ears were red.

Claudette chuckled. “Like mother, like son, I’d say!”

“To celebrate, you deserve a second helping of dessert, dearie,” Aimee said.

Rumple beamed. “Thanks, Mama. But Belle does too—she came in first.”

“I say we all have second helpings,” Claudette laughed, and then she cleared the supper dishes with a wave of a hand, then summoned the peach crumble with cream and the dessert plates plus warm cocoa and tea onto the table.

By then Bey suspected who had given the flowers to Aimee from him, and while he was slightly embarrassed, he was also highly amused at the cleverness of his students. He took a forkful of peach crumble and ate it, sighing with sheer bliss.

“Dearest gods! I would kill for a whole pie!” he said, savoring the sweet peaches and the crumbly topping. Then he sipped his tea.

“I can make you another,” Aimee offered, wishing now she had made extra.

Had she known he was coming . . .

But she took pleasure in the fact that he enjoyed her cooking. It was a simple thing, yet simple things meant a lot to her.

Bey helped her clear the table, using magic to float the plates and cups into the washtub. While she washed, he dried. The familiarity of the homely task made it get done quicker, and by the time the last cup was wiped, Bey noticed that Aimee had some soapsuds on her chin.

“Here, looks like you’ve got a beard,” he muttered, then bent to wipe them away, his lips inches from her own.

The temptation proved too much. Deciding to be daring for once, Aimee leaned towards him, their lips just brushing.

Bey wanted to savor their taste like a fine wine, but his conscience prodded him sharply, reminding him that he shouldn’t do this. He was no fit beau for her, now or ever. He pulled away reluctantly.

“I-I’m sorry-I . . .” she stammered, her face hot now with rejection.

“It’s not you,” he panted. “It’s me.” He made as if to step back and flee.

“Bey, wait!” she cried, and grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving.

By mistake she grabbed his bad arm, and when he went to draw away, pushed his sleeve up, exposing the dagger tattoo.

 _No!_ he thought in horror.

Then he tried unsuccessfully to push his sleeve down.

Too late.

Her eyes, keen as a hawk’s, spotted the tattoo. “Bey, what’s this?” she murmured, and traced it with her hand. “It looks like a—”

Then she trailed off for even here, in the back of beyond, they had heard of the Daggers, the assassins of Avaria, the brotherhood of knives and shadows, and the Dark One who led them. Plus Aimee was also a magic practitioner and she would know all the major symbols and sigils of the organizations that used magic.

“A dagger? It is,” he admitted, and went to cover up the damning sigil.

But she put out a hand. “This isn’t just any dagger tattoo. It’s the mark of—”

“The guild of mage assassins,” he returned flatly. “The Daggers in the dark, of whom I was one. And not just any one, lady, I was the Dark One.” He pulled his arm free. “So now you know my past, the past I came here to escape after my retirement,” he said blackly. “So, do you still wish to kiss a murderer?”

His tone was bitingly sarcastic, though his anger was more for himself than for her. What they had was done and over with, and he had been a fool to think it would have ever been otherwise.

When she remained mute, he snarled, “I thought not,” then spun up on his heel and headed out of the kitchen. He’d be damned if he gave her the opportunity to throw him out.

“Bey! Wait!” she called, finding her voice at last. His revelation had shocked her, but not quite in the way he had thought.

He ignored her.

“Bey Starfall!” she called sharply and was again ignored as he stalked out of the kitchen.

Damn the man! Aimee’s mouth firmed. Then she did something she normally wouldn’t have done—she cast the simple come-hither charm upon him that Lauren had cast upon Gaston after the rude child had taken Rumple’s blankie. Her spell flew from her like an arrow from a bow, a blue tendril of magic like yarn twisting and coiling about her target and then dragging a shocked Bey backwards to her.

“What in seven hells!” he swore as the spell hauled him backwards like a hooked trout.

He was so astonished that he didn’t even bother trying to break her hold with his own magic, and Aimee was so frustrated that she didn’t control the charm as well as she should have and the end result was Bey slammed into her.

The two fell awkwardly against a barrel of flour to the right of the counter, knocking the cover off.

Flour sprayed everywhere, coating the counter, the floor, and the two magicians.

Aimee made a sudden attempt to keep her feet, but the slippery floor wouldn’t allow it, and she fell, with Bey on top of her, to the floor.

“Aimee! Are you all right?”

“Bey! Are you hurt?”

Both blurted out their questions in almost the same breath, and then froze, staring into each other’s eyes, very aware of their compromising position and their sudden proximity to the other. Their breath hushed against each other’s face, and Bey accidentally put a hand on her arm when he went to get up, then coughed awkwardly and said, “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to—”

“My spell got a bit . . . err . . . carried away,” she admitted, licking her lips and wishing she dared to kiss him again.

Before he could shift himself off of her, there came the patter of small feet and then they heard Rumple’s little voice asking, “Mama? Master Bey? Why are you on the floor?”

“Did you fall? And why— ” here Belle saw the open flour barrel and realized something. “-are you covered in flour like ghosts?”

“Umm . . err . . . well . . .” Aimee floundered, her wits lost because Bey had almost touched her in a rather unmentionable place as he attempted to rise.

“Your mama was . . . demonstrating a spell and she . . .put a bit too much emphasis on it . . .” Bey said smoothly, and managed to rise to his feet. “The flour barrel got knocked into and . . . this disaster occurred.”

The two children’s eyes were wide.

“Is that why you were on top of Mama?” Rumple queried.

Bey could feel the back of his neck heating as he responded, “Yes, I slipped on the flour and fell into her, couldn’t catch myself with just one arm . . .”

“Oh dearie dearie dear!” Aimee said, accepting his hand up from the floor. “Look at us! We’re a wreck!”

“Looks like you need a bath!” Rumple singsonged.

“With lots of soap!” Belle tittered.

As the children burst out into shrill giggles, the adults gazed at each other ruefully, thinking they were lucky the children were too young to assume anything more about their positions when they came upon them.

“All right, scamps, go play!” Bey waved a hand at them and the two obeyed, leaving him and Aimee alone.

Aimee looked down at herself in dismay. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t intend for—this—to happen—” she began. Then she waved a hand and the flour upon him was erased.

He sketched a glyph in the air and hers was banished also.

“Now,” Aimee began briskly, “as I was saying before you tried to leave, we need to talk, Bey.”

“About what?”

“About your past. I want to understand how you became the Dark One . . . and why.”

“You don’t want to hear that story,” he protested.

“But I do, dearie. Right now it’s the story I need to hear most in the world.” She sat down at the kitchen table.

He gazed at her in astonishment. “I don’t understand. Why would you care? Didn’t you hear what I said? I used to be an _assassin._ The best and most feared in my kingdom. Why doesn’t that appall you? Frighten you?”

“Because I don’t see the assassin you were, but the man you are now. I see Bey Starfall, not the Dark One out of legend.”

“Once—they were one and the same.”

“And I want to know how that happened. Please, Bey. I never expected you to reveal anything to me about your past, but now . . . now I feel I need to understand. So that I may better understand you, dearie.”

“Why do you want to? You should just kick me out the door. You don’t need to be associated with the likes of me.”

Her eyes flashed. “Idiot! Do you think I care about what others think? I’ll be the judge of what is best and who I need to associate with. If I didn’t want to hear your story, why did I just drag you back here and humiliate both of us?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Glutton for punishment?” he teased.

“More like a fool in love!” she retorted, then halted at what she had just revealed.

He sputtered, then she held a hand to his lips and said, “Never mind that now. Tell me about you. About how you became the Dark One.”

“Very well. But I give you fair warning. Some of what I tell you—may not be what you want to hear.”

“Fair enough. Now enough dawdling, Starfall,” she prompted.

He cleared his throat, then he said, quietly, “Let’s start with my name. My last name, Starfall, is an indication of what family I belong to. The rulers of Avaria are a family called Highstar, and my name is indicative of the fact that I was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Like your son, Rumple, I too am a bastard. Only my father, the king of Avaria, claimed me as his own. Hence my name—the Star’s Fall. All of us royal bastards are called thus. Not all, however, are the king’s get. Some are his brother’s, Prince Cameron’s, others are his legitimate sons’, and one of us is his aunt’s. But no matter which Highstar begat us, we are all collectively StarFalls.

“Normally such a stigma would prevent us from moving about in society, would brand us as social outcasts. Or it would mark us out as targets for rebels and revolutionaries anxious to overthrow the rightful monarchs and put a bastard of their choosing on the throne. But the Highstars were clever, and they prepared for such eventualities. They did so by making their bastard children useful servants, giving them a purpose, and teaching them that their greatest goal in life was to serve the king and the royal family as their protectors and assassins.”

Unbeknownst to them, Rumple and Belle had their ears pressed to the kitchen door, listening in amazement at their teacher’s tale. Cassandra had gotten called away for a delivery, or else she would have caught them, but since she was gone, the children could eavesdrop with no one the wiser.

“Knowing that their child would have a future, would have most women eager to acknowledge their child as a royal bastard. But my mother was different. She was a minor baron’s daughter . . . and she thought the king was a mere knight at a tourney circuit. Sometimes the king liked to play at masquerades—only he took this one too far. And when he revealed himself after a month, figuring my mother, her name was Beryl, would be delighted to know that the king had chosen her as his lover, he hadn’t reckoned with my mother’s sense of hurt and betrayal. She was horrified at his deception, and she actually ordered him away from her. She was furious and she nearly threw his parting gift of an emerald and seaheart pendant in his teeth. Or you see, she had never intended this to be a mere dalliance, she had convinced herself she loved this knight and wanted to marry him, hence why she agreed to take him to her bed. And why she was devastated when he proved to be a royal rogue.

“When she determined she was with child, her father sent her off to the country to have her baby in secret. I knew her but a week before she died of the childbed fever. And the only clue she would give anyone, was the pendant she left about my neck. “It belonged to his papa, and someday it may lead him to him,” were some of her last words.

“I was placed in a local orphanage run by the priests and priestesses of the god Korellyan, a god of mercy and healing. I grew up knowing nothing of my past except my mother’s name, and my own—Bey after her dead brother. I was a clever lad, swift, and smart. And soon I was not content to stay within the boundaries of the orphanage. When I was nine I took to running with a gang of local street rats, pilfering goods from market stalls and pickpocketing strangers. I was good at it too. I never got caught.

“Until the day I picked the pocket of the gylphmistress the Dragon. She was warded, which I didn’t know, and caught me as easily as one might catch a slug crawling. And when she saw my pendant, she demanded to know where I had stolen it. When I told her this was all I had from my mother, who claimed my father had given it to me, she knew she had just found an unknown royal bastard.

“Before I knew it, she had taken me into custody, and brought me before the king, and the king saw the pendant, knew of course whose son I was, and said that I was now going to be an important person. A special person. I was awed. I couldn’t believe that the king was actually taking an interest in me. I still didn’t realize, you see, who I was. Or what I was.

“It was only after a year that I realized that I was a royal bastard, when one of my fellow Daggers told me. I was raised in a portion of the royal enclave, learning the art of the glyphs and the art of silence and shadow. I was a small child, and prone to being bullied by the larger castle boys, until I learned how to defend myself and beat them bloody.

“Once it became known who I was, I was left alone. For that I was glad, and for a time I was happy. I had a purpose, a place to belong, and I could eat, drink, and go to school for free. But all of this came with a price. And it was a price I didn’t know would cost me more than what I wanted to give.”

“They never told you what they . . .wanted you to be?” Aimee queried softly.

“No. Not then. I was a ten year old boy. They wanted me mallable. So they made everything a game. Everything a test of skills with my fellow Daggers. In those days all I wanted was to please my teachers, the only family I had ever known. I worked hard, I learned everything I could, and learned it well. When I was fifteen, they sent me out on my first assignment. Not to kill, but to spy and report back. I had done such work before. But not officially.

“My first job was spying up a lord suspected of treason. My second job, a year later was to kill this same noble. The king had decreed him too dangerous to live. And so he was marked for death. By then I knew how to kill someone in many different ways, both magical and not. And it didn’t occur to me to question it. Not then. That came later, once the man lay dead at my feet and I had left our calling card, a black dagger card, did I pause to realize that I had become something I had never intended. I had become a living weapon in the service of my king.”

His eyes were unutterably weary and also sorrowful.

Her hand closed upon his. “Bey . . .I’m so sorry.”

He flashed her a grim smile. “Most people would say that was a small price to pay for the way I lived. I had all my material wants taken care of, and as for companionship . . .well I had my fellow Daggers and the courtesans, though we were unable to sire children with them as long as we were Daggers. Didn’t want the weapons having the distraction of children.”

Aimee gaped at him. “You mean they—they . . .”

“Magically, they rendered us sterile as a mule,” he returned.

Her eyes flashed. “Why? They had no right!”

“Of course they did, dearie,” he laughed. “We belonged to the Highstars, body and soul. And were treated the same as they did a prize hawk, or destrier, or a hunting hound. Only I didn’t learn how the guilded cage had trapped me until years later, when I was a man grown, and had many kills behind me. By then I was the Dark One in truth, and my king’s right hand.”

“Those you killed . . .was it to protect the king? Or because you felt like it?”

“I never killed except when ordered. And those who were slated for death, were always ones who had threatened my monarch. There were few exceptions. Occasionally I would allow a greater noble to hire me for a price—to eliminate a threat. But not often. Not many could afford me. When the Dragon passed away, I became glyphmaster in her place, and the new teacher of the royal bastards. But unlike many of my mentors, I never tricked my students into believing all we were doing was playing games. They knew from the beginning they entered our tower that they were being trained as king’s assassins. A singular honor. And why.”

“How many have you killed?”

“Many, Aimee. And not all were people. Some were magical creatures. I killed anyone—or anything—that threatened my monarch father. I was a very efficient weapon.”

He went on to detail a few of his more memorable assignments, then waited to see the condemnation rise in her eyes. When he saw none he said, “Have you been paying attention? I _murdered_ people, young, old, it mattered not.”

“You were defending your monarch. Your father. Did you ever find one who didn’t deserve to die?”

He shook his head. “No. I made sure they were all guilty.”

“Could you ever refuse an assignment?”

“Sometimes. But not usually. As the Dark One I had my choice of assignments, and I picked those I felt suited to. Ones I knew I had the better chance of coming out alive. For if a Dagger died on assignment it was as if he never existed. He “vanished” as the saying went. Only we of the brotherhood knew and gave him or her a proper prayer ceremony. For who else would mourn a shadow?”

“Bey . . .did your father ever . . .spend time with you? I mean not to send you somewhere, but . . .just to spend time with you?”

Bey chuckled. “He was the king, darling. His time was not to be wasted. Especially not with a bastard. He wasn’t like an ordinary father. Not that I ever knew what one was.” eHe He sighed. “I want you to know that I’ve taught nothing of the ways of silence and shadow to Rumple or Belle. Nor would I ever.” He rubbed the dagger tattoo absently.

“I got this tattoo when I was twenty-one, after the last Dark One passed. It gives me certain immunities from certain types of magic, and even though I’m retired, it still functions.”

“And your scar on your arm?”

“That happened when a band of Poison People, another group of assassins belonging to the Caliph of Al Zaheer, tried to kill the king. They were good, but I was better. But I underestimated their Cobra leader, and she got me with her knife before I cut off her head. And the poison was one I didn’t know the counter to, and before we figured it out, it had damaged my arm. That spelled the end of my usefulness to the king.

“Soon after the king grew ill, and then he too passed, and the promise I had made him so long ago as a wide-eyed innocent child was no longer valid. I was free. The other Daggers swore fealty and pledged themselves to the new monarch, my half-brother. I decided then to leave, to go far away where I could live in peace . . .if such was even possible for one such as I.”

“It _is_ possible, Bey. Everything they’ve denied you—a real family, love, forgiveness, understanding . . .it’s all attainable.”

“Is it?” he sounded suspicious again.

“Yes.”

“And what price does this come at?”

“Just this—trust me with your heart.”

“W-hat? No? I _can’t._ I’m not—”

“You are worthy, dearie. You don’t believe it, but I do.”

“Why would you want a dried up crippled assassin with blood on his hands?”

“Because you’re the only who has ever seen me, just Aimee, and liked what he saw. In your eyes I’m pretty, and you appreciate me not just for my cooking, but my mind as well. And that’s rarer than diamonds. Not only that, but I’ve seen how you are with Rumple. You’ve given that boy someone to look up to, and you did it by not feeling sorry for him or coddling him. But by loving him and helping him overcome his disability. He loves you, Bey. Like the papa he never had.

“While you might have done things in your past that make you doubt you are a good person, you being here and telling me the truth about what happened shows that you are. Because don’t think for a second I don’t know how easily you could have cast a memory erasing spell on me. You didn’t need to tell me anything. But you chose to trust me. Now I’m asking you to trust me again, Bey. With your heart. Like I trust you with mine.”

The former Dark One was silent for several moments. Then he said wryly, “Don’t you know, Aimee Spinner? You already had my heart. That was why I was running away. Because I was scared you would reject me.”

“Bey Starfall, you’re a fool. But I love you anyway,” she admitted. Then she reached out and pulled him towards her and kissed him, a kiss full of passion, and the promise of a love that would always be there, through darkness and light, forever.

Behind them, the door opened a smidgen, and Rumple’s brown eye and Belle’s blue one pressed through the crack, and saw the two adults embrace and kiss. “Looks like they’re sparkin’, Rumple!” Belle hissed in his ear. “And maybe that means you’ll have a new papa.”

Rumple nodded silently. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that . . . was a papa who used to be the Dark One better than no papa at all? Once the thought of Bey as his papa would have made him jump for joy. But now . . . now he was confused, trying to reconcile the stories he had heard whispered by adults about the evil Dark One and the man he knew as Master Bey his hero.

His head aching with fear, anguish, and conflicting emotions, he turned and ran out of the cottage, needing to be alone, and ignoring Belle’s shouts to come back.


	13. Papa of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Bey have a heart to heart talk about fathers and sons

Rumple ran without really seeing where he was going. His mind was filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions, like a skein of tangled yarn. Over and over he kept recalling what Bey had said—that he was the Dark One—and the Dark One was a killer, who murdered children in their beds, according to the tales he had heard whispered by the old folks in the village as they sat outside the tavern or on their front porches in the evening.

 _But it's Master Bey,_ a part of him whispered in return. _He doesn't hurt kids. He protected you from those bullies, remember?_

But he recalled how others had spoken about the Dark One, they called him a demon made flesh, and said he skinned his victims and hung them on the wall as trophies. They were tales murmured in the shadows, ghost stories to frighten people and send shivers down their spines. Right then Rumple recalled all of them and trembled as he ran.

Torn between the devil he had heard spoken of, and the man he knew, the gentle teacher who had bought him a special pair of boots and had taught him how to defend himself from George and Felix, Rumple ran into the forest, his small chest heaving, tears mingling with sweat on his cheeks as his leg cramped up and finally he stumbled to a halt, gasping and leaning against a large beech. He was a ways from his cottage, near the lake where sometimes Maurice had taken him and Belle fishing.

Once again he saw Bey kissing his mama in the kitchen, once again he heard the man he admired and respected telling Aimee he was the assassin known as the Dark One, the most feared warrior in all the realms.

He shut his eyes, trying to shut out the images crowding his brain, of a shadowy figure wielding a deadly blade and the slender teacher who had taught him rune magic and martial arts. They wavered and shimmered in his mind's eye, like phantasms fleeing the light. His breath coming in harsh pants, one thought kept circling around and around, like a wolf circling its prey.

_Bey lied! He lied to me!_

Those words pierced him like a sword to heart, and he sobbed softly in grief.

Just then a soft high pitched snarl echoed through the air, making the troubled youngster freeze in terror.

Slowly he opened his eyes—and saw the crouching form of a cougar three yards away. The tawny cat's tail twitched in warning and it singsonged its eerie wail, small ears flat against its head. Its claws flexed, each one as large as a small dagger, and sharp enough to tear him into bits and pieces without much effort.

His breath hitched in his throat and his knees turned to water, his small clutched the beech tree for dear life, as he tried to remain motionless. He knew if he ran, if he made the smallest sound, it could cause the cat to spring and then he was dead.

 _Please, please, help me, Bright Lord and Lady,_ he prayed, his skin gone ashen. _I don't wanna be this cougar's meal!_

He felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck and slide down his nose, making him want to sneeze. He suppressed the impulse, and bit back a whimper. Now he wished he had stayed to talk to Bey and not run off like some silly girl, the way Cora did when she was in a snit.

The cougar snarled again, its eyes glittering a smoky greenish amber.

Rumple swallowed and tried not to think about how frightened he was. But the fear consumed him, even worse than it had been when he had been attacked by George, Felix, Bo, and Cora. He prayed fervently for someone to rescue him.

The prayer had barely been uttered when the cougar began to stalk forward, its huge paws noiseless over the forest floor.

The child nearly wet himself, certain he was going to be torn apart.

A streak of midnight flew at the cougar's flank, growling ferociously, and attacked, snapping at the tawny cat.

"Nyx!" Rumple almost shouted, but his voice was muffled by his hand.

Nyx slashed at the cougar, opening a deep wound in its side.

The cougar screeched and whirled, striking at the black wolf-dog with a saucer-shaped paw.

The cougar's strike caught the gallant protector a glancing blow, and knocked Nyx across the clearing. Dazed, the wolf-dog shook her head, whining, but before the cougar could attack, she struggled to her feet and lunged at her enemy again.

Rumple hugged the tree, his eyes almost bulging from his head, whispering hoarsely, "Run, Nyx! Run!"

But the midnight wolf-dog refused to back down, charging the cat once more, snapping at the feline's haunches, avoiding the claw swipe by mere inches.

The boy wanted to close his eyes, certain the valiant dog was going to be shredded by the much larger and stronger cougar, but he forced himself to watch, figuring the least he could do was bear witness to Nyx's fight. But he did wonder why no one had come after him.

 _Perhaps because no one cares,_ whispered an insidious little voice.

 _No! Belle cares,_ he argued back. Then he realized Belle could also get hurt or lost and hoped the girl hadn't followed him.

The snarling writhing mass of fur separated again, and more blood was on the ground. Nyx was bleeding from a slash to her shoulder, and the cougar bore more marks on its hide from Nyx's fangs. But neither animal seemed willing to back down, and just as the cougar crouched to spring on the smaller opponent, a silveron blade whistled through the air and embedded itself in the big cat's eye.

Nyx gave a triumphant snarl as the cougar staggered and rushed in to slash its vulnerable throat as it fell to the earth, the light slowly draining from its eyes.

A second dagger followed the first, this one striking the throat, and that put the death stroke to the big cat.

"Nyx, leave it!" Bey ordered softly, and his dog obeyed reluctantly, drawing away from the carcass.

He stroked his familiar'

The master assassin went to retrieve his knives, first making certain the cougar was dead. He cleaned them on the grass and tucked them in his belt, then he turned and saw Rumple still clutching the tree, petrified. "Rumple, are you all right? It didn't . . . hurt you, did it?"

The boy shook his head. "No. Nyx saved me."

Bey expelled a sigh of immense relief. "Thank the gods!" He came towards the child, intending to hug him, then recalled that he was the reason Rumple had ended up here and halted, instead kneeling in front of the little boy. "Rumple, what are you doing out here?" he queried softly. "You know the woods are dangerous for a child alone."

"I just . . . needed to get away," he replied slightly sullenly.

"Get away? Why, son?" Bey asked, though he had a pretty good idea why, he wanted to see what Rumple said.

Rumple gazed up at the man he had come to admire and almost worship as he would have his own papa, had Malcolm ever been the kind of man to stay around and teach him anything, and a lump rose in his throat. Bey looked the same as he always did, slender, with fine boned features and hands, even if one didn't work right any longer, his dark hair curled neatly about his head, his brilliant eyes warm and friendly. _He saved you from the cougar. He's not bad like they say,_ his conscience hissed. But then another part of his mind insinuated, _How do you know? It could be a trick. You know all the stories—the Dark One fools you into thinking he's harmless . . . until he has his knife across your throat._

He dropped his eyes to his shoes—shoes which Bey had made for him in far off Avaria by the royal shoemaker elf, Silk. The lump grew even bigger. _Bey would never hurt you,_ the rational part of his mind argued.

But the other part cackled, _He's the Dark One. He said so himself. How do you know?_

"Rumple, please speak to me," his mentor urged.

Finally the little boy found his voice. "I . . . I kind of listened at the door . . . to see what you would say to Mama . . . and I heard you . . .I heard you say it—that the tattoo on your arm . . . was because you were a Dagger . . . you were the Dark One . . . and that's why I ran off . . ."

Bey coughed, his throat tight. "Are you . . . afraid of me, Rumple?" he made himself ask, dread congealing in his stomach like the bitter dregs in the bottom of a tankard of ale.

" Umm . . ." the boy considered. _Was_ he afraid of Bey? He dug his toe into the dirt. " No . . . well, maybe a wee bit . . ."

His words seemed to make Bey upset. The master assassin sat down on the ground then, his bad arm cradled in his lap, and he shoved his sleeve up, revealing the tattoo he had kept hidden all these months. "I'm sorry. Sorry for scaring you and sorry for not telling you what I was when I first met you. But you see this mark here? It's not there just to tell people what I am—it's a magical rune picture of protection. It's a sign of the covenant between me and the royal House of High Star. Or at least that's what it was long ago."

He rubbed the tattoo absently.

"Before you hurt your arm?" Rumple guessed, leaning against the tree.

"Yes. Everything I told you about how I hurt my arm is true . . . and the fact that I served my king, who was also my father, until the day he died. And if you heard what I said to your mama, then you know how I came to be the Dark One. I made a deal I didn't understand . . . I was a child who thought I was being trained to serve my king with honor—I didn't know I was just a weapon for him to use as he saw fit. That doesn't excuse what I was—I know that—but I want you to understand, Rumple . . . I'm not the Dark One any longer. I haven't been since I took a ship and crossed the Narrow Sea and came here to the Enchanted Forest. I gave up everything I was, my position and my pension, to walk away and find somewhere no one knew me, knew my reputation, so I could start my life over. And it wasn't just because of this," he indicated his injured arm. "It was because I didn't want to be associated any longer with death and darkness. As the Dark One they called me Death's Right Hand, the Pale Executioner, among other things. I'm sure you've heard some stories."

Rumple nodded. "Uh huh."

Bey grimaced. "I can imagine. Many of those stories are not . . . something a child ought to hear. They were originally started to put fear into the heart of enemies to the High Star throne. And many of them are exaggerated on purpose. They're one of the reasons I didn't want you to know about my past. Because no one in their right mind would ever let their children study under a master assassin . . . and I truly wanted to help you and Belle. I've always hated bullies, and I didn't want you to be a victim the way I had."

Rumple frowned. "You lied to me," he accused.

"I know. Perhaps I shouldn't have," his mentor acknowledged. "But if you had known that day in the woods who I really was—would you have stayed?"

Rumple dropped his eyes again. "I dunno."

Bey sighed. "It's all right if you tell me no. I won't be angry. Not many people would want to call me their teacher . . .or trust me."

Rumple shook his head sharply. "No, you don't understand. I might've been all right, but Belle might have been afraid . . . or my mama and she might've made me stay away from you."

"True. She very well might have," the master assassin agreed. "Because she wouldn't have understood that I would never harm a child. Despite what people say . . . I'm not a monster, Rumple. Just a man who made some very bad choices. But being here, living a normal life, has shown me that this is where I belong, this is where my heart lies . . . here with you and your family, the Avignons, at peace. I'm done with killing, done with secret assignments, done with being the dagger in the dark. I told your mama as much, and now I'm telling you. I'm not the Dark One, Rumple. He died the day my father did. Here I'm just Bey Starfall, glyphmaster and former soldier of Avaria."

"Then . . . then you never liked being the Dark One?"

"Liked it? No. Never. But it was the only life I had ever known . . . and the way things are done with unwanted royal bastards in Avaria. We were given everything we needed to live, allowed any entertainments we desired, and in return we pledged our lives and souls to the king. We became his weapons, the daggers in the dark, trained to be efficient and deadly. By the time I was thirteen I could kill a man with just two fingers, and poison an entire table of people with a single cup of wine or ale. I was taught to be proud of that fact . . . and encouraged to be the best at what I did. So I did what I was asked . . . because the king's service was all I had left. I was an orphan with no prospects until the former Dark One took me up . . . and made me over into his image. I was powerful, I was feared—some even feared to whisper my name—but now I see that I was never happy. Not the way I am now."

He trailed off, fear and regret rendering him suddenly mute.

Rumple had his chin in his hand. "Was . . . was your papa proud of you?"

Bey gave a small sad smile. "I . . . suppose so . . . in his way. But he never said so. Just kept giving me more and more difficult assignments. Understand, son, my papa was . . . well, he wasn't like Maurice or any other child's father here in Hearthstone. He was king of Avaria. And his time wasn't spent with family, but in governing his country. He didn't . . . he never visited me or asked me how I was doing. I came when he summoned me, and went when he dismissed me." His mouth twisted. "Rather like a favorite war dog."

"Then your papa didn't . . . he didn't ever want you or love you?" queried his apprentice. "Like mine didn't."

"No," Bey answered roughly. "I never knew what love really was. Not until . . ."

_Not until Aimee. Or you, Rumple._

But those words remained unspoken. Because he was afraid to speak them and then be rejected by the boy he had come to love like his own.

"But . . . you almost died for him."

"Yes. Because that was my duty, my sworn oath. I was sworn to protect my monarch, and I have always done my duty, and always kept my word. Always."

"Then why . . . why didn't he love you? If you were a good son . . ."

The innocent question made the former Dark One wince, it was like antiseptic in an open wound that had festered. How many times had he asked himself that, once he realized just whose son he was? Too many times to count. _"_ Because it wasn't enough, dearie," Bey replied, his voice rasping in his throat. "Because I wasn't his son . . . just a weapon to be used. A beast to be unleashed whenever the need was there."

The little boy's eyes grew stormy. "No you weren't! You're not a beast! You're a person. Mama says just 'cause my other mama had me without bein' married doesn't mean I'm worthless, like my papa always said an' my grandpa who doesn't want to have anything to do with me. She says it's not my fault my papa was too lazy an' too scared to marry my mama like he oughta, and even though my grandpa's one of the richest men in the village, he's also sour as lemongrass an' lonely as the winter wind, and he's missing out on the best thing there is—his family."

"Your mama is a wise woman."

"I know. She's smart and your papa was dumb—even if he was a king."

Bey's eyebrow quirked up. "Really, dearie?"

Rumple nodded firmly.

Bey gulped. "Then . . . do you forgive me for not telling you about my past? You don't hate me?"

"I could never hate you, Bey!" Rumple cried, horrified. Then he threw himself into the older man's arms, and buried his face in Bey's shirt. "I love you . . . cause you want me . . . like my real papa never did." Tears dampened the fabric as Rumple began crying, reaction suddenly setting in from his near death experience.

Bey hugged the boy close, rubbing his back, and murmuring, "Oh, Rumple! I love you too. And I . . . I would be honored if you . . . thought of me as your father." Then he kissed the top of the boy's head, and thought, _After all this time, I have found what I was searching for, I have found my heart— in this little boy here in my arms—and with his sweet and talented mother._ He rocked the boy back and forth, his own tears of relief and hope mingling in Rumple's floofy hair.

Together they sat beneath the beech tree, a brilliant reve _la_ tion sweeping through them. Love was not blood only, it was what the heart chose. Love was family. Bey rested his chin on the top of Rumple's head and reveled in the serene peaceful feeling that flooded his soul, and drove back the last of the darkness.

Love is hope, and the love of one intuitive and clever woman and a lonely little boy had brought the lost soul that was Bey Starfall home at last.

After a few more moments, Rumple stopped crying, the fear draining out of him. He was safe now. Safe with Master Bey. He lifted his face from his mentor's tunic, and Bey handed him a small cambric handkerchief. Rumple wiped his eyes, then asked curiously, "Bey? If you love my mama, like you said in the kitchen, does this mean you're gonna marry her?"

"Well," Bey smiled. "If your mama says yes, I will."

"Really, dearie?" Rumple's eyes widened like a newborn fawn's.

"Is that okay, Rumple? Would you like me to marry your mama?"

"Do you love her?"

"More than my life," Bey replied sincerely.

"Do you love me?"

"To the moon and back, son." His eyes sparkled.

"Okay. You can marry Mama," the child declared. "Because you're a lot better papa than my old one!"

"I am?" Bey pretended shock, but his heart was bursting with love for the boy cuddled on his lap.

"Uh huh. All my old papa cared about was money an' thieving an' gambling. But you want me, and that makes you the best of all."

"I do, Rumple, and I always will," he promised. Then he stood up, the boy held securely in his good arm. "Come, let's go and tell your mama and Belle the good news."

Rumple was beaming. He could hardly wait to tell Belle and Aimee that he had a papa again. Only this one, he sensed deep within him, would never hurt him and never leave.

As they walked through the woods, Nyx came and trotted alongside them.

"Nyx!" exclaimed the little imp. "You're okay!"

"She has a few cuts, but it looks like she's taken care of them," Bey assured him. "Right, my friend?"

Nyx whuffed and winked at her sorcerer, and she marched proudly beside them, the wind ruffling her ebony coat.

Bey recalled the dead catamount, as they called them in Avaria, and thought he would have to see to it later, and the pelt would make a nice rug for the hearth, the first of many gifts he would give Aimee for their new home.

As they emerged from the woods into the yard of the Spinners' cottage, Belle was waiting on the porch. The little girl jumped up and down when she saw the two men and called, "Miss Aimee, they're back!"

A rather flustered Aimee burst from the cottage and raced across the yard to enfold them in her embrace. "Rumple, you scared me to death, you little imp!" she half-scolded, but she was laughing and her brown eyes were twinkling as she hugged both her wayward menfolk, welcoming them back.

Belle clapped her hands and then ran to pet Nyx, who wagged her tail and licked the child delightedly, as happy as her master to have a family again.


End file.
